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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Warp and Woof." 

BY 

"HARRY BURTON." 



Scenes and Incidents from Real Life,— on the 

Tented Field, Foot Board of an Engine, 

and Pressing Down on Red Liquor. 



if- 



K 



" 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near Home ; 

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come. "—Byron. 



"If the secret history of Books could be written, and the author's private 
thoughts and meanings noted down alongside of his story, how many insipid 
volumes would become interesting, and dull tales excite the reader!"— 
Thackeray. 






LaFayette, Ind.: \^ 
Spring, Emerson & Co., Printers and Stationers. 
1881. 



r 






Entered according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1881, by 

" Harry Burton," 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



PREFACE 



"With no claim to literary excellence — with no merit 
aside from truth, but with a conscientious desire to do 
good for my race and kind — make some shekels — and 
fill a niche that has been looking lonesome since the 
'rnorning stars sang together. 5 We have concluded 
that the threads and chains of 'Warp and Woof,' 
woven on the 'tented field' — 'foot-board of an engine,'— 
and while pressing down on 'red liquor,' 1 (inspired by 
tears, sweat and blood), would fill the vacuum that has 
been resounding with emptiness throughout the cycled 
years of the dusty past." 

And, if a thought or suggestion, in this little book, 
should make the everlasting Tedium, between breakfast 
and dinner roll around a little sooner to the boys who 
are stubbing their toes against the clods in the corn 
rows and between the plow handles, we shall have ac- 
complished our every desire, and feel just as happy as 
the day is long. 

"Harry Burton." 



rr o 
Mr. A. E. Pierce, of LaFayette, Indiana, 



' The noblest Roman of them all. ' 



In whose unswerving fidelity and sympathy, I have always- 
found fresh courage when battling for the 

Grandest Cause on Earth, 

„ this volume is affectionately inscribed, by the 

Author. 



"WARP AND WOOF." 



Bob Clarence's First and Last Theft. 



"I won't say I was born a thief, as some of you boys 
would like to be called, but once, when I w 7 as crazy 
drunk, I stole something, which I think has broke me of 
'that little game' forever." 

"Well, Bob, how was it? Let's have it! Hear! 
Hear!" was chorused by half a dozen soldiers, dressed 
in ragged blue, who were standing around an old bat- 
tered "camp kettle, " in which a half a dozen chickens 
were boiling. 

" Take off that kettle, it ' smells to Heaven, ' and let's 
finish them ' barn-yard cadets,' " said Jim Johnson, 
"and then Bobby, of the Sunday-school book, will tell 
us all about it." 

This little scene transpired in "Old Virginia," the 
mother of presidents, and at that time, was muddy 
enough to be prolific of "major-generals." 

The boys had been out foraging, and were lucky 
enough to run across the chickens that were simmering 
in the kettle, and that Johnson declared were "smelling 
to Heaven." After succeeding so well in capturing the 
chickens, the conversation, naturally enough, turned on 
stealing. Each one had related his experience, and they 
had got around to "Bob Clarence" just where this story 
begins. Bob was a good cook — the life of the mess, and 
as good a soldier as ever wore the "blue." 



10 WARP AND WOOF. 

"Well," continued Bob, "I learned the blacksmith 
trade up in Detroit, with as good a man as ever 'cracked 
spit' on an anvil. The old man (as we used to call him) 
had one of the loveliest and most beautiful women for a 
wife, that ever fell to the lot of mortal man. Just as I 
had finished my trade, the old man took the 'small-pox' 
and died, leaving his young wife a widow, with one 
beautiful rose-bud of a child, 'Estella' by name. The 
widow settled up the business, broke up housekeeping, 
and went to boarding. 'Twas believed that she had con- 
siderable money. I was boarding, at the widow's solici- 
tation, at the same house, in order, as she said, to help 
her settle up all the affairs connected with the shop. 
Not long after the old man's death, having nothing very 
particular to do, I fell in bad company and took to 
drinking, and came near going to the 'bad' altogether. 
The widow expostulated and entreated me to stop before 
it was too late, and I believe I would have been turned 
out of the house a dozen times, but for her. She was 
truly a mother toward me, and all for her dead hus- 
band's sake. One night, little 'Estella' took sicK and 
died, which came near setting the poor forlorn woman 
crazy. It seemed as if she was to lose all her earthly 
friends. I sympathized with her in her great sorrow, but 
rum, cursed rum! was crazing my brain, taking away 
my senses, and destroying all my finer feelings. I had 
been out late one night, to 'Beller's Varieties,' and had 
taken a little more than usual, tor I was with a pretty 
fast set of fellows. On going home, one of the party 
suggested that we must soon raise a stake, as we were 
getting pretty short, financially. Some demon in the 
company suggested that I should make a draw on the 
widow. I had got tired of Detroit. I wanted to get 



WARP AM) WOOF. 11 

away from myself. No sooner was the thought sug- 
gested to me, than I resolved to rob my benefactress, 
and leave Detroit forever. Her apartments were just 
across the hall from mine. She had one of those large 
Saratoga trunks in her room, which I supposed contained 
all her valuables, and as bad luck would have it, she was 
away on this particular night. I got into her room and 
managed to break open the trunk, and, down in the bot- 
tom, I found a nice little box, which I supposed con- 
tained her treasures. Well, it did. But not the kind I 
wanted, I put the box under my coat, and stole out, 
feeling satisfied that I had a small fortune." 

"The widow was not to be back for a week, so the next 
morning I enlisted in the — regiment, and in twelve hours 
I was on the way to 'Dixie,' with the box in my posses- 
sion. We went into camp at Washington, and the first 
opportunity that presented, I took a stroll alone in order 
to see my prize. After getting out of sight of the blue 
coats, I broke open the box, and the first thing that 
almost struck me blind, was a little gold locket, with 
Estella's picture and some curls of golden hair, a pair 
of little slippers, worn through at the toes, some little 
stockings, and pieces of dresses. I tell you, boys, I 
wanted to die that morning, and I hoped and prayed 
that the first rebel gun I would hear crack, would send a 
bullet through the heart of Bob Clarence." 

"Two years passed, all of which time I was down here 
fighting the 'Johnnies,' when I received a letter. I will 
read it." He drew from his pocket an old leather 
wallet, and took out a worn piece of paper and read 
these lines: 

Detroit, January 2, 1863. 

Dear Robert Clarence: — When yon read these lines, 
I shall be in the Spirit Land. Be true to your God, 



12 WARP AND WOOF. 

your country and yourself. I am dying slowly but 
surely. My friends are gone and I can not stay. Don't 
drink, Robert, and be a good boy, "friend of my better 
days." Good-bye, forever, Estella V. 

P. S. — Oh, Robert, some vandal stole all the souvenirs 
I possessed of darling little "Estella." If you live to 
get home, and should ever discover the thief, recover the 
box, if possible, and bury it by my side. Don't hurt or 
prosecute him, but leave him alone with memory. 

Once more, "oood-bye," E. V. 

"Now, boys, if I live to get home, the first thing that 
I will do on reaching Detroit, is to have a funeral of my 
own. I want it to be in the night, when none but the 
'All-seeing Eye' can witness it. I will bury that box by 
Estella V's grave, as requested, and rain as repentant 
tears upon it, as ever fell from mortal eyes." 

"Amen! Amen!" exclaimed the boys in a chorus, as 
with tear-bedimmed eyes they grasped the hand of Clar- 
ence; then laid down beneath the stars to dream of 
"boots and saddles." 




WARP AND WOOF. 13 



WHY HE QUIT. 



I had been firing for Charley Hillis some three years, 
and had never seen him take a glass of liquor. I knew 
nothing of his past life aside from engineering. "When- 
ever we stopped for "hash" any w T here along the road, 
the crews would invariably take their accustomed drinks; 
but Charley always refused, and in such a manner as left 
no doubt as to his meaning. I recollect on one occasion 
when he had promptly refused, one dead beat suggested 
that he take a glass of "strained water." That chap will 
remember it as long as he lives for Charley "put a head" 
on him, that his mother's own dog wouldn't have known 
him. When we got back on the engine, and his fit of 
temper had passed off, he said he was sorry for what he 
had done, and feared being discharged. I being his 
fireman promised to "stay with him," for I loved him as 
a man for his sterling principles of temperance. He 
seated himself with his hand resting on the "reverse- 
lever," his head inclined forward, as if absorbed in 
thought; and when he glanced over at me I discovered 
tears welling up in his large brown eyes. Said he, 
"Harry, 'tis not often I speak of my past life, for I have 
few pleasant memories aside from boyhood; but in jus- 
tice to you for your disinterested friendship, I will speak 
of one incident of the many in my checkered career." 

He opened his watch, and said he had twenty minutes 
to relate it, while we were waiting for No. 4. Then he 
resumed: 

"I am a reformed drunkard! I have followed railroad- 
ing for the last twenty years — from the shovel up to the 
engine — and to-day I might be enjoying myself in good 



14 WARP AND WOOF. 

society, were it not for the curse of drink. I was apt in 
ray calling, and in a short time found myself foreman of 
a large gang of men, laying iron on the Atlantic rail- 
road. My business threw me into company with men 
who were my superiors in point of wealth and influence, 
and- who as a class were much addicted to drinking when 
congregated of an evening at some hotel. I fell into the 
habit gradually, for who would think of refusing to 

drink a social glass with Mr. . Well, I acquired 

the habit, and would take an occasional "spree." How 
I used to "bring down the house" by saying smart 
things and quoting Shakespeare till the "wee sma' 
hours," my companions all the while patting me on the 
back, screaming with delight, and calling me the "prince 
of good fellows." Often in the still watches of the 
night, when partially recovered from a drunken debauch, 
has the voice of my sainted mother whispered me to 
"flee the wrath to come." I heeded it not; down, down, 
lower and lower, till I lost my job, and became "a total 
wreck." I straightened up for a while, and they gave 
me a "section," to see if I would do any better. The 
iron had been laid to Dayton, Ohio, and I was on a 
"section" near Springfield, where was located one of the 
largest distilleries in the State, owned by a gentleman 
named Shaffer, who was a liberal, whole-souled man. 
He would invite me into his cellar to sample his liquors, 
from "boiled cider" and "cherry bounce" up to "old 
rye." I was not long in relapsing into my old habits. 
One day a time card (the first one issued on that divis- 
ion of the road,) was thrown off to me by the road 
master, stating that an excursion would leave Jersey 
City and run through to Dayton in thirty-six hours, and 
warning me to see that the track was all clear. Tile 



WARP AND WOOF. 15 

next day found Shaffer and me in his cellar, drinking to 
the occasion, of the first through train over the Atlantic 
and Great Western, with P. T. Kennard on board, in- 
stead of a Caesar. I stayed at Shaffer's until evening; 
then started for home — "chuck full." I had about four 
miles to go; Shaffer helped me to put an old "truck 
car" on the track, which I wanted to take home for no 
earthly reason than to hold to, so that 1 could walk, for 
I knew that I was past navigation. It has always been 
a mystery to me how I got that car home, but home I 
got it, or just in front of where I lived. I remember 
nothing until about 2 o'clock in the night, when I woke 
up half froze, got up on my feet and looked around, not 
knowing where I was/ I had been laying all night in 
the middle of the track, in front of the old truck car. 
I realized my situation in a moment, it being the night 
the excursion train was to pass. I jerked out my watch 
and looked at it, when 'it was two hours later than the 
allotted time for the train to pass, and that car on the 
track yet. My first impulse was to run and wake up 
some one to help me off with the car, when happening 
to look at the track towards Shaffer's there was the head- 
light dancing on the rails. Too late! Too late! The 
engineer knew he was on the "home stretch," and was 
"letting her out." He saw the old truck, but he scarcely 
had time to "shut her off," before the engine struck it, 
knocking it into a thousand fragments, and throwing the 
engine off the track! The engineer was caught between 
the tank and engine, and crushed; while the boiling 
water poured on him in a stream through the "fire 
door," literally cooking him alive, and his pitiful dying 
screams, will ring in my ears forever." 

"The affair was all laid to persons not friendly disposed 



16 WARP AND WOOF. 

toward the road, and I don't think Shaffer ever had a 
suspicion that I was the cause of it — lie probably think- 
ing that I arrived home all right." 

"I left the State, and have never been back, nor do I 
ever want to see the place again. Ever since that event- 
ful night, I'm a firm believer in the supernatural. I 
can't help it. For why should I, a poor drunken sot, 
after laying nearly all night on the track, and the train 
become late, wake up just in time to escape being torn 
into fragments, and sent in the presence of an all wise 
Creator, unprepared. I don't think it was for any good 
that I've done, or ever expect to do, that I was saved; 
but it may be that I might recite this simple story and 
warn others who are going astray. Let proud science or 
staid philosophy decide. I did not "swear off" — there 
was no need of it, for I would as soon undertake to play 
with Death as to take a drink of whisky, after such a 
lesson as that. * * * But here conies No. 4. Get 
in a good fire; we've got to fan them, to make. Logan in 
time for No. 10." 




WARP AND WOOF. l7 

SETH GREEN. 



.A. TALE O IF IPIEJTIE JEt & BIT IR, <3- - 



Seth Green and I met for the first time in the trenches 
in front of "Fort Hell," at Petersburg. Our company, 
(K) had been "in the ditch" twenty-six days, without 
being relieved. We went in during the night, and could 
not get out, as it was certain death, or six months' sick- 
ness at least, to raise your arm above the surface of the 
ground. The sharp-shooters were in holes like ground- 
hogs, and digging new ones every night. You never 
knew where to look for them in the morning, until 
warned by the report of an Enfield, and the death of 
"only a private." Seth was as good-looking a boy as 
you'd see in a thousand — as smooth-faced as a girl, and 
like Mark Tapley, "always jolly," except when "Long 
Tom" commenced to sing. The Johnnies had a gun, 
the instant a shell would leave it, would sing so that you 
could distinguish it from all the rest. Our boys chris- 
tened that min, "Long Tom." Seth Green was a SOl- 
dier in every sense of the term — tried and true — always 
facing the music like a man. But his comrades noticed, 
and he admitted, that he had a mortal terror of "Long 
Tom." The Johnnies might blaze away for weeks — 
Seth would stay with them — but just let "Long Tom" 
begin to sing, and Seth would hug old "Mother Earth." 
The boys used to joke him about it, and say that gun 
would be the death of him; and I've often thought since, 
that many a truth is spoken in jest. About the 1st of 
April the men, like Micawber, thought something was 
going to turn up. "Little Phil" came up from the Val- 
ley that day. We were standing on the parapets of Fort 



18 



WARP AND WOOF. 



Gregg, and could see a cloud of dust rising on the right, 
at the beginning of the Jerusalem plank-road. Pretty 
soon we could distinguish his scouts, a couple of miles 
in advance of the column, coming at the old gait — hard 
as they could ride. Just then we looked over at our 
nearest neighbors to see how they liked the new arrival, 
when they began to growl as usual. The blue smoke 
curled from the touch-hole of "Long Tom" and a cone- 
shaped shell went singing down the plain toward the 
advancing column, and fell among the "Seven Sisters," 
who were cross old maids, and couldn't think of letting 
an opportunity like that pass without saying something. 
Pretty soon the conversation became general. Seth said 
he thought there was "a good time coming." The next 
day^Phil gave them a left-hander at Hatcher's Run. 
On the morning of the 2d, after "reveille," we run short 
of grub, having finished our last rations of "sow-belly 
and hard tack." Seth volunteered to go and get some, 
and said he "did not care if they shot until hell froze 
oyer, and then shot on the ice, if 'Long Tom' would 
only keep still." He crawled out, and returned safe. 
"Tom" was sleeping. That night we had a long talk of 
home and friends, wondering if we ever should meet 
again this side of "The River." Seth described his 
mother, and called her his "old sweet-heart." He showed 
me some old letters taken from an inside pocket. She 
told her boy to "stand like the brave, with his face to the 
foe." She was a Spartan mother. In the evening every 
thing was still — even the pickets had ceased firing. It 
was the calm preceding the storm. After "tattoo," we 
stopped talking, and each was busy with his own 
thoughts, wandering in dreamland, while the old moon 
never shone more beautiful. 



WARP AND WOOF. 



19 



We could see the long line of the Johnny's works, ex- 
tending right and left, until they seemed to take the 
weird shapes of giants, arming for the fray. All at once 
the words: "Fall in! Fall in!" was passed along the 
line at "low breath" — no beating of the "long roll." 
We could feel it in our bones that it meant business — 
Seth's "happy time" was coming. "Long Tom" began 
to sing. Seth said he hoped that gun would sink into 
eternity in a holy minute. Then came the crash of in- 
fantry, and the rolling roar of artillery, but above all 
arose that never-to-be-forgotten cheer of "the boys in 
blue," when they went over the abatis. It was the 
death-rattle in the throat of the petted child, "Lost 
Cause." For ten weary hours, with the sweat rolling 
down their powder-blackened faces, the old 9th corps 
gave them the hot end of it, until the Johnnies started 
on their straggling route down through Petersburg, set- 
ting tire to the city as they left. 

The morning sun arose. Oh, so beautiful and kind, 
drying the dew on the trembling blades of grass, and 
death-damps on the brows of the slain. A peach 
orchard on the field was in full bloom, and the sweet- 
scented leaves went zig-zagging to the earth — falling 
before their time, rudely shaken and keeping company 
with the heroic dead. The "last ditch" and Petersburg 
was ours! We wandered back over the field, and 
thought we would take a last look at "Long Tom" and 
see how he had weathered the storm, fie was torn from 
the carriage embrazure, and lay square across the road, 
on the dead body of poor Seth Green ! He lay on his 
back, his eyes wide open, glistening with the glaze of 
death, upturned to the bright rays of the morning sun, 
as if appealing to God for relief. His cap and gun lay 



20 WARP AND WOOF. 

at some distance from him. "Long Tom," that he 
feared most while living, was holding him down in 
death, and his last song was the requiem of poor Seth 
Green! 



Half a Day in Doyle's Saloon. 



In the year '63, when treason was at par, and had 
spread out like a pall, wellnigh enveloping two-thirds of 
the stars in the field of azure blue — when gold was at 
$2.60 — when substitutes were in demand, and the very 
name of "war widow" was a by-word and scoff among 
the stay-at-home patriots, who were growing rich on the 
soldiers' blood — 'twas in that memorable year, in a little 
town some thirty miles from the "Star City," that the 
incidents I am about to relate transpired. There were 
two saloons in the place, for whisky was in good demand. 
One was owned by a German known as "Jake," the 
other by a man named "Doyle," and it is of the latter 
we wish to speak. Doyle pretended to be a Union man, 
but his sympathies went out toward any one who pa- 
tronized his "gin-mill," and his "mill" had sent many 
a "grist" to the wife and mother, like flour made of 
sprouted wheat, that all the yeast and powders in the 
world couldn't raise, but would spread out on the floor. 
One morning Doyle had sprinkled and swept the dirt 
to the door-sill and was searching for stray currency, 
usually dropped by some customer, who, as he said, was 
a "little off;" three young men entered and marched up 



WARP AND WOOF. 21 

to the "bar." They were between the ages of eighteen 
and twenty-one. 

"Come, Dolly," said one, addressing Doyle; "let's have 
something. My chimney's afire this morning. None 
of that six months' sickness," he said, as Doyle reached 
for a certain bottle. "I want some gin and sugar in 
mine. What'll you have, boys?" 

"The same," they replied. 

Doyle fixed up their drinks with sugar and lemon. 
They took their glasses, touched them together, saying, 
"here's luck." One, who felt the effects of last night's 
debauch, looked at his glass a moment and said: 

" Were it the last drop in the well, 

And I fainting on the brink, 
Ere my drooping spirits fell, 

'Tis to thee that I would drink. " 

The negligent and abandoned way in which they 
drank and smacked their lips with the gusto of an "old 
timer," showed to the eye of an observer, that if they 
were not regular customers, they had surely been there 
before. They were the idols of fond mothers; their 
fathers were good substantial men, who never got drunk. 
They took their regular drinks and no more, only on 
special occasions. "They could either drink or let it 
alone." Those fathers never dreamed that their sons 
were "saloon bummers." 

"I say, Dolly, has Andy been round this morning for 
his 'night cap?' " asked young Green. 

"No," Doyle replied; "that wife of his wears the 
breeches, and tries to make him stay at home. She went 
to town yesterday and drew the last hundred of Andy's 
bounty money out of the bank, and gave Andy $10. 
He owes me twenty, but I'll be even with him yet." 

"I guess," said George Murray, "that little rebuff you 



22 WARP AND WOOF. 

got to that note you sent her when Andy was at the 
'Front,' bothers you more than the $20." 

"Now, you button up that lip," said Doyle, getting 
very red in the face. 

"Well," said Tom Miller, "Andy will be here pretty 
soon, and if he has that 'Sawbuck' about his clothes, 
let's get up a game of 'Euchre.' Andy and I will play 
partners, yon two will beat of course. Andy will be 
drunk by that time; then I will 'saw off' with him, and 
away goes his 'ten case note,' 'presto change.' ' 

"Good enough," said Doyle, as he moved the screen 
before the door, for there was the worst set of folks in 
that town he had ever seen — they were always attending 
to somebody else's business.' " 

If Andy's wife passed twenty times a day, she was 
sure to peep in to see if he was there. He got the 
screen properly adjusted, when sure enough, in stepped 
Andy He would have been called handsome but for 
the traces of dissipation indellibly stamped on his 
weather-beaten brow. 

"Have something?" asked Miller of him. 

"I don't care if I do," he replied, "I scarcely ever 
drink unless 'tis about this time of day." They all 
stepped up and had a light drink, as Miller called it. 

"You and I can beat any two in the house in a four- 
handed game of Euchre for the drinks." 

"We can make a sickly effort," Andy replied, taking 
a ten dollar note from his pocket. 

The boys gave each other a knowing wink. Doyle 
moved the table back in the farthest corner of the room 
where the glass was frosted, and they began playing. 

They played for the drinks till Andy got drunk, then 
for a dollar a corner. Andy and his partner got beat. 



WARP AND WOOF. 23 

Then they "sawed off" and Andy lost his ten dollars. 
Doyle had been standing in the doorway during the 
progress of the game, watching for Andy's wife. She 
passed by and asked if her husband was in there. He 
said no, she would find him up at "Jake's" — he always 
went there when he hadn't any money. She heeded not 
the taunt, but passed on. What cared she if Andy was 
all right. The boys left the table pretty well soaked 
with whisky, but Andy was drunk, and wanted one more 
drink before going home. 

"Not if the court knows itself," said Doyle. "You're 
drunk now." The 'Old Girl' just passed up street, look- 
ing for you." 

Andj^'s face turned a shade redder at hearing his once- 
loved wife called the "Old Girl." Who knows but some 
well-nigh forgotten hours were flitting through his 
whisky-crazed brain? Perhaps the hour he "plighted 
his troth" in the Indian Summer of his life, in the 
beautiful, mellow and subdued light of the old, old 
moon! He made some remark about not wanting to 
hear his wife talked about in a saloon, and insisted on 
having a drink. Then Doyle walked from behind the 
bar, knocked him down, dragged him to the door, and 
kicked him clear off of the sidewalk, and this is where 
his wife found him, on returning from u Jake's." She 
wiped the blood from his bruised and bleeding face. 
She got him on his feet; twined her arms around him 
and succeeded by almost carrying him, in reaching 
home. Meanwhile Mr. Doyle and his companions were 
enjoying a rare treat. Perched above the screen and 
frosted glass, they had witnessed the whole proceedings. 
'Twas such fun to see Andy try to walk, throwing his 
whole weight against his wife when they both would 



24 WARP AND WOOF. 

stagger. They cheered her once in a while with such 
words as "Steady, there," "Heel path," "Freeze to him," 
"Down brakes," etc. She heeded them not, but suc- 
ceeded in reaching home with him more dead than alive. 
She bathed his burning head with water. She sat by 
his bed that long afternoon and all night, till the "wee 
sma' hours," fan in hand, till she dropped asleep in the 
chair. She slept, dreamed and waked, with a start, to 
find him gone to " Jake's." She brought him home, 
talked to him, plead with him, and told him what poor 
little Johnny said just before he died, while he was 
away in the army. She made that poor drunken sot 
shed tears of sorrow for a misspent life. She sobered 
him. 

Men love to boast of heroic deeds performed upon the 
field of battle. History tells in glowing terms of the 
bravest of the brave,, the closing scene in the life of 
"Marshal Ney," standing over his own new-made open 
grave. Read the lives of brave men. Even of our own 
Lawrence, Warren and Jasper, then lay them on the 
shelf to accumulate dust, and for a true "Hero," turn to 
the drunkard's wife. She goes to battle, not at the roll 
of the stirring drum or the trumpet, that sings of fame, 
but with sealed lips she fights till the last gasp, 'mid the 
jeers of the world, and sinks into the grave heart broken, 
and is buried a pauper, "unwept, unhonored and un- 
sung." No decoration day for the dead veteran. No 
bright, Spring flowers, wreathed by loving hands, are 
strewn about her grave. But in the most lonely nook 
or corner of the old grave-yard, where none ever stop or 
pause, the head board rotted down, and the lank grass 
grows in the wildest profusion. She sleeps well with 
her darling child. Whisky has done its worst. 



WAKP AND WOOF. 25 

WHO BEAT? 



"If I don't heat that engineer, I will get a little 
'squirt-can' made to order, and wear it suspended to my 
watch-chain during life, in order to perpetuate the 
memory of my defeat." The speaker was young George 
Silvers, the presumptive heir of one hundred thousand. 
He was addressing his friend, "Burt Mason," who was 
standing on the depot platform, grip-sack in hand, ready 
to board the express train No. 4, due in L. at 4:30 P. M. 
going east. Burt was starting for Europe on a business 
tour of three years. He had been joking his friend 
about a Miss Grace Weldon, a noted belle, who, 'twas 
said, was rather partial toward a young engineer named 
Hank Manly, who was handling the throttle valve of 
engine 55, and attached to the incoming express train. 
This was the sole cause of the very sarcastic language 
just used by George Silvers. Mr. Weldon was counted 
a wealthy man. He dealt in stocks and oil wells, and 
Grace was the petted and only child. He was an indul- 
gent father, but wondered very much at the plebian 
taste of his daughter, in preferring a mechanic to a gen- 
tleman. At last becoming involved in his business, he 
pressed the suit of Silvers so vigorously, that Grace 
gave a reluctant consent, and they were married. They 
went on a wedding tour of several months, visiting some 
of the most fashionable watering places in the States. 
George liked to show off his beautiful wife whenever an 
opportunity presented itself, and along with his other 
fashionable acquirements, he was vain and presump- 
tuous, He loved his wife as well as 'twas possible, for a 



26 WARP AND WOOF. 

man of his nature and habits to love any woman, and had 
no doubt but what Grace was the happiest woman under 
the sun. 

Henry Manly was one of Nature's noblemen, and all 
that his name suggested. Thrown upon his own re- 
sources at an early age, he had battled manfully with 
the world, and at last had reached the summit of his 
desires, which was to stand on the "foot-board" of an 
engine. He had made the acquaintance of Grace W el- 
don by mere accident, but he soon learned to love her 
with a love as boundless as the immensity of space. 
Simultaneous with the event of Miss Weldon's marriage? 
came the call of "Father Abraham" for "three hundred 
thousand men," and Hank Manly was one of the first to 
respond. 

When Grace read the announcement, she retired to 
her chamber under the plea of a slight headache. 

Three years had passed into eternity. Three eventful 
years in the world's history. Three years in which gen- 
erations unborn will be searching for the records. 
'Twas in the Spring time. In the month of roses. 
'Twas decoration day, and "Burt Mason" had returned. 
After the ceremonies were over, and the floral offerings 
of grateful hearts had been strewn upon the sodden 
altars, George Silvers and his old friend wandered off to 
a shady nook in the cemetery, and sat down to smoke, 
compare notes, and talk about old times. They had been 
there a couple of hours, when Burt declared that he 
must go up town and see all the boys. He promised to 
call around in the evening, and then left for the city. 
After Burt had left and George had read an inscription 
or two, he turned on his heel and was about starting for 



WARP AND AVOOF. 27 

home, when he caught sight of a lone woman standing 
by a grave, weeping. George knew that form and dress 
too well. 'Twas Grace, his own wife. He watched her 
closely for half an hour. He was in a retired spot, but 
could see her every action. She planted something on 
the grave, then laid a wreath of evergreens over it. 
George waited patiently till she had left the cemetery, 
then went to the grave and read this inscription on the 
shaft: 

Sacred to the memory of 

Henry Manly, 

who fell, nobly fighting for his country, at the battle of 

Chancellorsville, Va., May 3d, 1863. 

Erected by. the members of No. 7, 

Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers. 

u He was faithful unto death." 

George Silvers walked out of the cemetery, picking 

the leaves from a white rose, that his wife had left on 

the grave. He was truly an object of pity. He would 

stop and mutter to himself, "Who beat? Who beat? 

I have her hand — but that poor dead soldier has her 

heart. Who beat?" And, kind reader, vje ask the 

question, " Who beat?" 




28 WARP AND WOOF. 

BEER IS GOOD. 



A great many people are of the opinion, that Lager 
Beer is healthy, because its tendency is to make men fat. 
Beer never made any one fat. It's an India Rubber 
kind of mixture, that, expands or busts any kind of a 
vessel that encloses it. All Beer casks are made of 
heavy oak, two inches thick, and yet they very often ex- 
plode or the bung flies out, on most any occasion of 
rough handling. Yet, men will fill up with this explo- 
sive, to the amount of thirty or forty glasses per day, 
with the vain hope, that their hides can stand the same 
amount of pressure to the square inch that a hard oak 
cask can, when made double the thickness of any other 
tight barrel. Beer also has a tendency to rot any thing 
that comes in contact with it. This is why we have so 
many cases of Typhoid Pneumonia, or using a more 
common phrase, "Delirium Tremens." A man begins 
the habit of drinking beer by taking only a few glasses 
per day, for the first year. At the end of that period 
his hide has expanded a little from the great pressure of 
the explosive ingredients; but he is young and his hide 
is tough and green, and the amount is not quite suffici- 
ent to burst him, on account of the expanding qualities 
of a young hide. But in the course of time, the rotting 
process begins, when the hide is stretched to its utmost 
tension, and the drinker's abdomen stands out, inflated 
like a balloon, or a swollen parcel of dropseys. At this 
period it becomes necessary to empty into the vat, noth 
ing short of a keg each day, to keep up the rotundity. 
Should circumstances occur that the drinker runs short 
of collateral, and has to shut off the supply through the 



WARP AND WOOF. 29 

force of circumstances, a collapse invariably ensues, and 
the old red-rotten sides of the vat, that has stood the 
pressure for years, caves in, despite all the "crown bars," 
"stay bolts" or "hand hole plates," and it is only with 
the utmost skill, that the mass of stinking putrefaction 
that smells to Heaven, can be got into the coffin. One 
great difficulty has been overcome, by the adoption of 
air-tight metallic cases. Quite a number of beer drink- 
ers have dropped dead in the "Star City" in the last few 
years with Typhoid Pneumonia, and have stunk so loud, 
that if it were not for the metallic cases, they could 
never have been got out of the gate. We have seen a 
great deal of weeping and wailing on such occasions, but 
have been given to understand that it was all for appear- 
ance's sake. No body-snatcher was ever known to have 
Gall enough to delve for a beer drinker's corporosity. 
We heard of an old man who deals largely in old iron in 
the "Star City," who went to a beer drinker's grave one 
night, who had been buried in the Potter's Held. The 
old man wanted the iron that the case was composed of, 
as iron was bringing a good round price per pound. 
After digging for half a night the old man got out on 
the edge of the grave, and took a sharp-pointed bar and 
jabbed it down and struck the coffin in a tender spot and 
went through. The old man is not quite certain whether 
the bar shot up and took him under the nose or not, but 
"there was mounting in hot haste the steed," and that 
old clattering iron wagon came tearing down through 
Linn wood till all the people thought that "Braden's 
mules" had got hungry. It is very often the case that 
some "tender foot" whose hide has not been properly 
expanded to the proper tension, undertakes to get outside 
the amount of an old timer, and the usual consequence 



30 WARP AND WOOF. 

is that they lean up against the nearest brick wall and 
cast up their accounts, and thereby lose a whole dollar's 
worth of heer in a couple of seconds. The world would 
hail with delight some kind of a patent, (elastic or other- 
wise) that could hold a beer drinker together after he had 
expanded to the utmost extension, and the rotting pro- 
cess had set in. We would like to hear of something 
in the next decade, at least, as we have quite a number 
of beer drinkers who will have to be hooped or bound 
together in some kind of shape, so that they will hold 
until after the Spring election. 



ONE MORE SIGNER. 



We were talking temperance one night, in small 
town about fifty miles west of LaFayette, just across the 
line in Illinois. The house was crowded full, and the 
audience had been paying good attention all the evening. 
During the meeting we noticed a broad-shouldered, 
stout looking man, on one of the front seats, holding a 
little one-armed child, about six years of age. He 
seemed very uneasy all the evening, and once when we 
were reciting a pathetic instance in a drunkard's life, his 
stout, manly frame, fairly trembled with emotion. 
After the meeting was over, we made his acquaintance, 
and inquired why he was so visibly affected while we 
were talking. Re requested us to wait until the audi- 
ence had passed out, and then he would tell us some- 
thing. When the audience had all dispersed but our- 
selves, we found a good seat near the pulpit; he lifted 



WARP AND WOOF. 31 

the child on his knee, and brushed the back of his broad 
hand across his eyes, dashing away a bright, glistening 
tear, that had been swimming in his eye all evening, like 
a drop of quick-silver. "I got into the habit of drink- 
ing during the war," he said, "but had resolved that if I 
lived to get home I would never touch another drop as 
long as I lived. Through the blessings of God I ar- 
rived home safe, after serving three years; but the love 
of strong drink was gnawing at my vitals, and there was 
no telling at what day or hour I was liable to become in- 
toxicated, for it was altogether owing to whom I should 
meet in my daily avocations." 

"One day I chanced to meet some old comrades, who 
had served in the same company with myself before 
Atlanta. We rehearsed old scenes and incidents in a 
saloon, till the bar-keeper saw there was a good round 
stake in store for him, if he only got us full enough to 
get in his work handsomely, for we had become pretty 
well warmed up already, and before the day was over, I 
became so intoxicated that I was perfectly crazed with 
drink, and oblivious of every thing save the wild, weird 
dreams, engendered by the cursed rum. Well, some 
kind friend got hold of me at last and assisted me home, 
or left me at the gate rather, and I managed to get in- 
side some way, I never knew how. Mary had stepped 
into a neighbor's house for a few moments, and had left 
this little wee toddling baby, lying on the floor, playing 
with a whistle and trying to swallow her little chubby 
hand." 

"1 staggered into the house and stepped square on the 
baby's arm with my big heavy boot, breaking the arm 
and mashing the flesh clear from the bone. One piteous 
trembling wail went forth, that brought Mary into the 



32 WARP AND WOOF. 

house with an ashen-hued face, made me a sober man 
for the rest of my days, with a never-ending aching void 
in my sinful heart; and that piteous child's cry will ring 
in my ears, till hushed in the voiceless grave. The little 
arm was amputated and our baby lived, thank God." 

"Poor Mary never upbraids me. No need of that. I 
have never sat down in the house since that terrible day 
without taking up my little girl, and I keep her with me 
most of the time when I'm at work near the house. 
You almost broke my heart to-night while telling that 
story. I'm so glad Mary was not here." 

"She feels sorry for me, I believe the angels in Heaven 
pity me, and I believe that God will forgive me, for he 
certainly knows all about this dead pain at my heart." 
We left the church together, and as we looked up to the 
beautiful stars, our hearts went out to God in answer to 
something, we don't know what. We had gone there to 
talk temperance, and had been taught anew in the faith. 
We signed another pledge that night under the blue. 
We were alone, but could almost hear the whisperings of 
another race of beings — children of the brain — who live 
in space. We stumbled near them that night. They 
called for signers. One went up, and 'twas Harry 
Burton. 



WARP AND WOOF. 33 

PEN PICTURES 

Of the Women Suffragists, Assembled in Convent/on in 

the City of Lafayette, in 1880. A Big Bundle of 

Sticks that can not be Broken, Salvation will 

Never be Free Till Women Vote, They all 

Wear Specks, But are not Weak-Eyed, 



Whatever may be said regarding the cause, repre- 
sented by the Women Suffragists, of one thing we are 
sure. They were a remarkable body of women, and 
second to no masculine conclave in point of intellect- 
uality. 

Susan B. Anthony, 
We would term the Cardinal Richelieu of the party. 
She is a much older woman than we were prepared to 
see, all the way from sixteen up to sixty years of age. 
Her head is almost square; forehead broad and low, with 
just the least bit of a swag over the bump of veneration. 
She is an impressive speaker, and measures every word 
from John Bright, in England, to our John Brown, in 
Kansas She is the kind of a woman if going home 
trom meeting as they used to in u ye olden time" in a 
two-horse wagon, and the horses should start to runaway, 
she would do all the driving with the haw line, till the 
wagon would upset, or be anchored high and dry in a 
fence corner. She dresses very plain, and seems wedded 
to the noble cause she represents. We shall always have 
an exalted opinion of Susan B. Anthony. 

Matilda Joslyn Gage, 
The Chairman of the Executive Committee and Editor- 
in-chief of the "ballot-box," is the "Cassius" of the 



34 WARP AND WOOF. 

conspirators. .Not that she is notably "lean" and thinks 
too much, but she certainly is a profound thinker, with a 
face that would attract attention any where. Her hair 
is almost white, and done up in a comely fashion, a la 
Martha Washington, or our Grand-mother's style. She 
is a large woman, with a smooth face that will never 
look only just so old. When she speaks it is in a clear, 
argumentative style, that denotes forethought, and con- 
veys the impression that she has studied her subject. 
An observer, taking an inventory from the Gallery, 
would be likely to pronounce her the "Noblest Roman 
of them all." 

She would have been a priceless jewel for some sturdy 
old farmer, who is in the habit of going to town and for- 
getting every thing he was ordered to bring home, save 
his jug of whisky, with a corn-cob stopper. The asso- 
ciation may well feel proud of Matilda Joslyn Gage. 

Sarah Andrews Spencer, 
of Washington, D. C, is the Corresponding Secretary of 
the Association, and might properly be called the Bru- 
tus of the Capitol. She is a good talker, and interests 
an audience from the start. Her remarks were mainly 
on the social evil question, as it exists in Washington, 
and elsewhere in our large cities. She watches over the 
girls at Washington who are forced, through circum- 
stances, to endure the society of our bald-headed law- 
givers w r ith an eye that never sleeps, and an eternal vigi- 
lance that is the price of virtue, at the Capitol of the 
United States. 

Thus far she has been a match for both houses, and 
claims that she was never beaten but once, and that was 
on the occasion of the junketing trip of the Knight 
Templars , from Indiana. She is one of the bravest 



WARP AND WOOF. 35 

women that lives, and handles her subject without 
gloves. We don't think she would have made the most 
congenial companion in the world for some bald-headed 
LaFayette man who is in the habit of attending the 
Lodge about six nights in the week. We believe if 
Washington City is ever saved from the old Co?iks, or 
meeting the fate of Sodom, it will be through the instru- 
mentality of Sarah Andrews Spencer. 

Elizabeth L. Saxon, 
Of New Orleans, one of the Vice-Presidents, is a fluent 
speaker and would make a reader of Shakespeare think 
of Marc Anthony, over the body of "Caesar." Her 
powers of eloquence are simply grand, and she is an ora- 
tor in every thing that the word implies. Her head is 
shaped something like Miss Anthony's. She is a woman 
of fine form, dresses well, and is a true type of the Sunny 
South; a real flesh and blood woman, who is not afraid 
to talk with her hands — -Call on the Gods — or beat her 
manly breast. Her price would be above "Rubies" to 
some bald-headed orphan, with "ways that are dark and 
tricks that are vain." If we were delegated to select a 
speaker for the Fourth of July, one that could take 
wings with our proud bird in serial flights., we would se- 
lect Elizabeth L. Saxon. 

Lillie Devereux Blake, 
Of New York, is also a Yice-President. She possesses 
the never-failing sign of greatness. A large nose! She 
is what the world would call "good looking," and takes 
it for granted that everybody knows it. She reminds us 
of the original Goddess of Liberty — large as life — and 
twice as natural. Born to command — a stooping to con- 
quer, gem of the ocean kind of a woman — brave to a 



36 WARP AND WOOF. 

fault — would jump and pluck bright honor from Ga- 
briel's horn, a regular out and out "Harry Percy," aspir- 
ing for the crown. She is a good talker, but did not get 
the opportunity that others did to show off her oratori- 
cal powers. In the good time coming when women 
vote, and when they can sit down and review the ensan- 
guined field, and count the cost of the war, we think one 
of the largest debtors will be Lillie Devereux Blake. 

Mary E. Haggart, 
Of Indianapolis, is the Stephen A. Douglas or "little 
giant," of the association. She is a short, stout-looking 
woman, with a pretty large head, chuck full of brains. 
She does her talking, then sits down and keeps very still, 
with her face resting in her hand. Thinking, thinking, 
always thinking. If we were asked who made the best 
speech at the convention, we don't know whether we 
would be competent to decide, but if we was to turn our 
back, shut our eyes, and guess, 'twould be Mary E. 
Haggart. 

Rachel G. Foster, 
Of Philadelphia, is a tall, beautiful young woman, with 
a head like the "Apollo Belvidere," not large enough for 
intellect, but just the size for love. She did not speak 
but a few moments, but gave evidence of being a hard, 
determined worker, in the good cause. 

Elizabeth Avery Meriwether, 
Of Tennessee, is what the immortal Hughes would call 
a "rattler." She made a better speech than we thought 
possible, for any woman who has to keep in front of 
forty yards of gingham, that goes trailing and sneaking 
around her feet on the stage, without belaying pin and 
halyards to take up the slack. 



WARP AND WOOF. 37 

There was another good woman from some place, we 
don't know where, and couldn't find it. We know she 
was good, for she had the bump of Philoprogenitiveness 
very large, and seemed to be uneasy about little Benny 
all evening, and couldn't get him out of her mind for a 
moment. She was reassured time and again, that he'd 
get along all right, when she would brighten up, but 
would eventually drop back into a sad, far away look, 
that seemed to say, I feel uneasy about home. I'm 
afraid everything's not all right, something will surely 
happen. 

Mrs. Helen M. Gougar, 
Of LaFayette, Indiana, was Chairman of the Conven- 
tion. No better selection could possibly have been made. 
She handled that conventional body with diplomatic 
tact and skill. Yet her rulings were as irrevocable as 
the edicts of the "Medes and Persians.'' We would be 
pleased to speak at length in regard to the ability of 
Mrs. Gougar, but should we tell our thousands of readers 
of her power and ability, we would certainly be accused 
of favoring our own city. Yet we will certainly be ex- 
cused when we say with no disparagement to others, that 
she was the "bright particular star" of that Galaxy. 
It's nothing but justice to say, that women ought to 
vote, and we believe in God's good time they will vote. 
When the world gets sick of crime and debauchery, and 
among the many that will be clamoring for power and 
place, we know of no "dark horse," but among the most 
available for President, we should certainly name Mrs. 
Helen M. Gougar. 



38 . WARP AND WOOF. 

THE SQUIRE'S VERDICT. 



A couple of years ago, while making a trip through 
old Carroll County, as correspondent of the "Courier," I 
stopped over night with an old boyhood friend, in Wash- 
ington Township. My friend's name was Thomas 
Haskell, but he usually went by the name of Esq. H., 
for he had been elected and had served in that important 
capacity for ten years. He was universally known arid 
respected in the community for his sterling principles of 
integrity, and that was the reason he had been re-elected 
so often to fill the position of Esquire. Friend or foe 
always paid due respect to Tom's decisions, for they re- 
spected him alike for his honesty and justice. 

There were a few narrow, contracted, little, pettifogging 
whisky lawyers in the county that hated Tom worse than 
Satan hates Holy Water, for he was an avowed friend to 
the temperance cause; but this only served to raise him 
higher in the estimation of the respectable portion of 
the community. Late in the evening, after we had talked 
over our boyhood days of twenty years ago, and were 
about to retire for the evening, Tom requested me to 
stay over the next day with him, as he had a very impor- 
tant case on hand, and he would like to have my opinion 
at least, as it was a whisky case, and a change of venue 
had brought the case before him from another Justice. 
The case was this: A boy by the name of Charley 
James, who was only twenty years of age, had stolen a 
quart bottle of liquor from old Honeywell's saloon, in 
Camden. He was the only son of a widowed mother. 
His father had fallen with his face to the foe during the 
rebellion, while lighting manfully in the trenches before 



WARP AND WOOF. 39 

Petersburg, Virginia. Young James was guilty of the 
offense named beyond a doubt, as he was arrested with 
the bottle of liquor in his hand. He had acquired the 
habit of drinking while his father was at the front, and 
those were palmy days for saloon-keepers, for they could 
sell to almost any minor with impunity and without a 
fear of being arrested, for they claimed to be good Union 
men almost to a man. The boy had been employed by 
Honeywell to do odd jobs around the saloon, and when 
his services were no longer required, he was turned away, 
but in his stay in the saloon he had a "picket rope" fas- 
tened around him, that nothing short of the consuming 
tires of Hell could sever. The boy in company with 
others had got on a spree and run short of money, when 
he was ordered out of course, but while the saloon- 
keeper's back was turned, he seized a quart bottle of 
liquor that had been filled for some country customer, 
and left standing on the counter. The trial came off 
next day with a goodly number present, to see the boy 
bound over to court, and taken to jail that night, for 
Honeywell had remarked in the morning, that he would 
like to see the man who would go that young thief's bail 
for stealing a bottle of liquor. After the evidence had 
all been taken, and one of those pettyfoggers had whang- 
doodled for a couple of hours over the enormity of the 
crime of stealing a bottle of whisky, Esq. Tom arose 
and gave the boy a good sound lecture, and told him to 
go home with his mother, and never enter a saloon again 
as long as he lived. 

This was a surprise to every one present, but all the 
bullying and badgering of the whiskyites could not 
make brave, true hearted Tom, see it in any other light 
than the way he had given his decision. During the 



40 WAKP AND WOOF. 

trial a big lump got crosswise in our throats, and came 
near choking us, when the boy's mother stood there 
pleading, and offering to lay her rife down as security for 
her darling boy who was on the road to the bad. Eter- 
nity alone can tell the height and depth of a mother's 
love. 

After the crowd had all left for home, I stepped back 
into the office and found Tom seated at his desk, with his 
head resting in his hands, his elbows resting on the green 
baize cover. Tears had been dropping on a white sheet 
of paper between his elbows. We could not help it, 
We slapped him hard upon the back and said: May 
God bless you for this one day of Justiceship. Eternity 
will never unveil a purer court. Oh, Harry, Harry, he 
said, sit down! I'm as weak as a woman. And if you 
was a woman, we replied, we would go to battle before 
the sun set, with a DeBoullion, Ceur De Lion or Cheva- 
lier Bayard, for the privilege of kissing your hand. 

Harry, sit down, he said, and I will tell you a short 
story. Just after you left this part of the country, I got 
into the habit of drinking, through associations. I never 
liked the cursed stuff, and yet the habit grew on me so 
that I would take prolonged sprees, sometimes of a 
month's duration, and would drink as long as I had a 
cent. On my last spree, I had ^been drinking near a 
month, and had squandered my last cent, and it 'twas 
difficult for me to get whisky at all times, unless some 
friend would get it for me, for saloon men will drop a 
fellow like a red-hot poker, if his money runs short. I 
had been drinking pretty freely one day, and had went 
home in the evening without one cent in my pocket to 
get another drink. All hope of reform had left my soul, 
and the one last lingering desire of my poor sinful heart, 



WARP AND WOOF. 41 

was to just get one more big drink of whisky. I went 
home to my poor wife in this frame of mind. I dropped 
down on the floor like a dog, and lay there dreaming of 
endless enjoyment. I was drinking buckets full of 
cursed rum, till my soul seemed on lire, and I awoke 
with a burning thirst that would beggar Hell in descrip- 
tion. I slipped out of the house, believing that I had 
only a short time to live, if I could not get rum. I 
went across town to where the saloon-keeper lived, called 
him up, and pleaded with him for just one drink. I of- 
fered to barter my soul if he would only go with me to 
the saloon. He answered me with a mocking laugh, 
telling me to go home and sleep soundly till morning, 
then if I could get ten cents he would let me have a 
drink, provided I would come in the back way. I started 
towards home a crazy man, a rum lunatic, ripe for Hell. 
On my road home I stopped in front of the saloon. I 
could not help looking in at the window, and there stood 
all those bottles, tilled to the neck, within reach, only a 
glass between us, at the midnight hour. I would drink, 
if I sat in a prison ceil forever. My head went through 
the glass in an instant. I grasped the first two bottles 
on the shelf and crawled backwards on to the porch, 
where I sat down as I thought, to take my last drink. I 
drank and drank from those bottles, till my brain was 
wild. I was bathing my heart in rum. I was a burglar. 
They were dragging me away to prison, disgraced for- 
ever, while my wile stood pleading for me. My friends 
found me on the saloon porch in the morning, my face 
all cut and bleeding, from the glass. The saloon-keeper 
had just come up to unlock for the morning. He was 
going to have me dragged to jail in ten minutes. Just 
then my poor wife came rushing up, her face as white as 



42 WARP AND WOOF. 

snow. She raised her slender white hand and said: 
"You take him to a prison, and I'll have but one aim in 
life. Come, dear Tom, go with me, won't you?" I was 
almost sober enough to walk alone by this time, but 
Mary assisted me home and to bed, where I lay for a 
month, hovering between life and the grave. I have 
never drank a drop since that hour. I was not prose 
cuted for the simple reason that the saloon-keeper stood 
in more fear of Mary than King Richard, of the shad- 
ows that foretold his death. He never forgave me, and 
if he could have locked us both up my case would have 
been hopeless. And as young James stood before me to- 
day, all of those bitter memories came surging back 
from the almost forgotten years, till I could have wept 
like a child. And when his mother wanted to stake her 
life for that boy, you could have knocked me down with 
a feather. I was thinking of Mary and the long ago. 
He raised his big right hand and brought it down on the 
desk and said: "By the immortal Gods and the sanctity 
of my office, I will never fine a man for stealing whisky, 
while this Government licenses saloons." Amen, old 
'Squire Tom, you'll get there. 




WARP AND WOOF. 43 

OLD "63." 



With Her Small Wheel, Makes it in Fifty-five Minutes, 



When I first went to firing a locomotive, the Master 
Mechanic put me on old 53, a Smith and Jackson engine, 
and as good a piece of iron as ever run on rails. The en- 
gineer, whom I shall call Sam, was an old seven-year 
fireman, and the wildest runner upon the Wabash. 
He was a live engineer, very lank and lean, and the boys 
used to say he was as fat as a match, which was a good 
description. He was wedded to his profession, and was 
never happier than when going as fast as 53 could turn a 
wheel. Sam possessed more of the requisite article that 
makes good engineers than any man I ever saw — that is 
"sand," the engineer's term for grit. Sam had the sand, 
and he seemed to lead a charmed life. I often think of 
the many predictions of his brother engineers, in regard 
to his inevitable fate — of sometime going into the ditch, 
end over end, scalded to death, Mowed up, cremated in 
the fire-box, or ground to mince meat, and many other 
predictions, which used to make my hair stand on end. 
In those days the Wabash had nothing but old "chair 
iron," the joints all battered and knocked down, which 
made an engine ride like an old lumber wagon on a cross 
road. The passenger engines' time being pretty fast, 
they would sometimes break a spring or a hanger; then 
the first freight engine due to go out would get the "var- 
nished cars," and that was counted "fruit" for the freight 
firemen. I had been firing for Sam about six months, 
and noticed that every time the passenger engine broke 
down, and it was our turn to go out, Sam would receive 



44 WARP AND WOOF. 

an order from the "lightning jerker" at LaFayette, to 
let some other engine run around, and for him to take 
the freight. Sam did not like this, but said nothing. 
One morning, .just after an occurrence of this kind, and 
being more curious than wise, I approached the Master 
Mechanic and asked him why he never let old 53 try 
that passenger run. "Well," said he, "her wheel is too 
small to make that time." I walked off on my tip-toes, 
thinking the time must be pretty fast if they made much 
faster time than did Sam at times, with twenty-four 
loads. Sam came along presently, and I told him what 
the Master Mechanic said to me about 53. He said 
nothing at the time, but went off humming, "Mother, 
may I go out to swim?" I afterward learned to my sor- 
row that that song was as sure an omen of a fast rim 
with Sam, as was Lady Macbeth's croaking raven the 
presager of death to Duncan, when he passed under her 
battlements. We run to Danville that night, and the 
next morning we received an order to bring up the pas- 
senger train, as 77 had broke a spring, and there being 
no other engine there, we had to come or lay out the 
train. The morning was most fearfully cold. "Sun- 
dogs" were out; the drivers screeching on the rails, so 
you could hear them a mile. I run the engine out to 
the main track, and Sam told me to get in a good, solid 
fire; he jumped down with the can, and commenced oil- 
ing around, touching the guides and arranging the 
feeders, taking special pains to open the oil holes. 
When he had oiled about half way around he com- 
menced singing, "Mother, may I go out to swim?" I 
did not feel very well, but a man is never so brave as 
when he makes a virtue out of a necessity, and it would 
take a braver man than General Grant, to run more than 



WARP AND WOOF. 45 

thirty miles an hour upon such a morning as that, over 
such iron and ties, as lay between Danville and LaFay- 
ette. We got the train forty minutes late! Mr. Carver, 
the conductor, hoped that we would not lose any more 
time, cast his eye back, and cried, "all aboard," snapped 
his watch shut, and Sam told him to tie himself on. 
Then he pulled the plug; I piled the diamonds into her 
as fast as I could shovel them, with a scoop that held a 
bushel. Near Marshfield tank, an old woman had fed 
her chickens on the track; she had chicken pot-pie for a 
week. Old 53 was going at the rate of a mile a minute. 
Sam never spoke to me but once — then he asked me if I 
thought the "wheel was large enough to make the time." 
I did not answer him, but was trying to banish the rec- 
ollections of several little incidents of my past life, and 
I tried very hard to think that I had been the creature 
of adverse circumstances, more sinned against than sin- 
ning; but that was too thin; I could not become recon- 
ciled. I knew what was coming, for we had to go down 
the "summit," and we went! — the rods going around so 
fast that they looked straight. I went out to oil the 
valves, holding the can in my teeth, scaling the running- 
board, and holding on to the hand-rail with both hands 
When I got back into the cab, I had all my fingers and 
my nose frost bitten. 

When we got to Williamsport, the baggage master did 
not appear, when the conductor and brakeman came for- 
ward, opened the door, and found him in one end of the 
car, under a pile of trunks, bruised all over. The very 
iirst question he asked was, whether there were many 
killed in the wreck! Being set to rights, we reached 
LaFayette Junction in less time than it takes to tell it. 
The genial old host appeared upon the platform, with his 



46 WARP AND WOOF. 

face shining in anticipation of some legal-tender. Sam 
jumped down, and said the wheel was all right. Mr. 
Carver said we had run it in fifty-five minutes! coming 
in on time, and making up forty minutes between Dan- 
ville and LaFayette — the fastest time on record, up to 
that time, and I don't think it has ever been beaten, ex- 
cept a few times, and that was in the round-house! — 
seated by the big stove! 

The Master Mechanic met us in the depot, and asked 
Sam how he made it; he replied that he could have made 
it a little quicker if old 53 had a little larger wheel. 
The old man said he guessed she would do very well as 
she was. He never run any more engines around us, 
and we always took our turn; but, knowing what I do, I 
never will take a ride with Sam again, if I happen to 
hear him sing, '-Mother, may I go out to swim?" before 
starting, for translated, it means flying. 




WARP AND WOOF. 47 

What Sobered Him. 



When I had charge of LaFayette section, in '70, I 
hired a man one day in Jnne, who was tramping; a 
thing very uncommon for me to do, for I always prefer- 
red employing men at "home and to the manor born." 
But it seemed as if there was something about him that 
I could not resist when lie asked me for a job of work 
in almost pleading tones. He seemed like one of those 
"waifs" of the world we so often meet in life, who, like 
a tired child at evening, needs nothing so much as some 
soothing voice to lull them to rest. I hired him, and to 
my surprise he proved to be a iirst-class trackman. In 
fact there was nothing connected with the work but what 
he proved as capable as myself, although he always paid 
strict deference to my orders. I wrote his name in the 
time book, "Aleck Stephens," and 'twas not long before 
a strong attachment sprung up between us. We carried 
our dinners out on the road, and "Aleck" and I would 
usually find some nice shade tree and eat our meal by 
ourselves. One day, after doing justice to our lunch, the 
conversation turned on temperance, and I asked him 
whether he had ever been a drinker, for I had my suspi- 
cions that he had, from certain lines about his face. He 
started as if a pistol had been snapped in his ear. Pie 
hung down his head for a few moments, then raised his 
eyes to mine. They were full of tears. He said, " Yes, 
but I've been trying for years to forget it." 

"Harry," said he, "you've been a friend to me, and I'll 
tell you a little story that I have tried hard, oh! so hard, 
to forget. But there is no 'leathe' for me but the grave. 
I, like you, am a section foreman by trade. It is useless 
to tell you how, but I acquired the habit of drinking, 



48 WARP AND WOOF. 

as thousands do, thinking that there was no great harm 
in a social glass when with congenial companions. The 
habit grew on me 'till I was not satisfied without it. I've 
done many things in my life when under the influence of 
liquor that I have been heartily ashamed of when sober, 
but this one incident I am about to relate out-herods 
Herod. 'Twill cling to me while I live, and haunt me in 
eternity. 'The damned spot will not out.' 

"I had charge of a section on the Atlantic & Great 
Western road, in Clark County, Ohio, near a small town 
called *Enon.' There was a large distillery on the section, 
where the boys used to go and get their daily drinks. 
There was a man lived near the station by the name of 
Lennox. One morning in July he had a family quarrel 
of some kind, which would have been soon forgotten, no 
doubt, but for the demon rum. We happened to all 
meet at the distillery and drank pretty freely for an hour 
or more. Lennox got pretty full, and was still brooding 
over his family quarrel with his wife and daughters. I 
walked up the track and put on my 'hand-car' to go down 
the road towards Springfield. Just then we saw a gravel 
train coming tearing around the curve. We jerked the 
hand-car off the track, and then, looking back, I discov- 
ered Lennox standing square in the middle of the track, 
facing the engine, and holding up both hands. No 
power on earth could save him. He was torn to threads. 
Every joint between the rails for half a mile contained 
fragments of poor Lennox's body. His head and heart 
were intact. I procured a box, rolled up my sleeves and 
went to work, and in about one hour succeeded in pick- 
ing up the pieces of what, but one hour previous, had 
been a man. I had the box taken to his house, then went 
to Springfield and procured a coffin at the comyany's 



WARP AND WOOF. 49 

expense. When I got back with the coffin it was about 
9 o'clock at night. I was tired and worn out, for I had 
been drinking all day. The coffin was taken into the 
house preparatory to put in the body, when the question 
arose as to who should perform the duty. There was 
quite a crowd present, and they all very peremptorily de- 
clined to touch it in any shape or manner. I was com- 
paratively a stranger in the place, having been there but 
a short time. They all declared that I would have it to 
do, or it would not be done that night. I got angry at 
once, having done everything that had been done so far, 
and tired and weary with handling the body in fragments 
all forenoon. 

"There was a furloughed Colonel in the crowd who had 
been boasting and talking 'gore' all day, till 1 had become 
utterly disgusted with him. He w r ore a tall, shiny 'plug 
hat,' which he carried a little to- one side of his head, 
with one edge resting on the bump of caution. After 
they refused to assist me the Colonel mustered up cour- 
age to say that he would hold the light. In the mean- 
time, to prepare myself for the task, I slipped out and 
got several huge drinks of whisky, came back, marched 
into the room and went to work to remove and place the 
pieces in the coffin. The Colonel, instead of coming into 
the room and holding the candle, stood behind a parti- 
tion and reached his arm around into the room, giving 
me scarcely any light at all, and I the only occupant of 
the dark room. I had fished out about half of the pieces 
. and had placed the head in the end of the coffin, when, 
in reaching down in the box, I got hold of the heart. As 
soon as I took it in my hand, I do not know T what par- 
ticular demon took possession of me, for the whisky I 
had just drajjk engendered a legion. All I can recollect 



50 WARP AND WOOF. 

is giving a maniacal laugh, and thinking what a good joke 
'twould be to take that cowardly Colonel alongside of the 
head with that heart. No quicker thought of than done. 
I took one step back and threw it at the Colonel's head, 
taking him square in the ear. The heart bounced from 
the Colonel's head and lit in the wife's lap. She arose 
with it in her hands and gave a scream that will ring in 
my ears forever. The Colonel dislocated his hip in fall- 
ing over a chair. I rushed out of the house with my 
hands all covered with blood, hatless, sleeves rolled up, 
out in the darkness, with demons whistling, singing, 
laughing, and hallowing at me to stop. Just at daylight 
I found myself near Dayton, on the banks of the 'Still 
Water.' I washed my hands and bathed my burning 
brow. I had some money with me, with which I pur- 
chased a suit of clothes, and went to wandering, to try 
and forget that night. A garbled account of the matter 
appeared in the papers, but no one but myself knew 
the details of the horrible affair, as it was dark in the 
room. Mrs. Lennox was taken to the asylum in less 
than a week (a raving maniac), where she is to day, if 
living. I've been a sober man since that hour." 




WAEP AND WOOF. 51 

RUM CURSED. 



During the Summer I was in a city some fifty miles 
from LaFayette, talking temperance one night to a large 
audience assembled in the Opera House of the place. As 
I was leaving the house a large square-built man, about 
thirty years of age met me on the steps and said, "Bur- 
ton, I want to have a talk with you." I intuitively felt 
he was a good subject, so took him by the arm and walked 
with him to the hotel. As. we stood outside on the pave- 
ment that beautiful moonlight night, his eyes glistened 
with tears, and he clasped my hand and said, "Harry, I 
never wanted to be a man till to night, you are the only 
man who has ever touched my case. Just help me to 
start again, and I swear by those twinkling stars that are 
always mocking me for a misspent life, that from this 
holy hour I will be a man." I soon discovered that he 
was a well educated man, yet the traces of dissipation 
were visible in his weather-beaten face. "I have been a 
dissipated man since I was seventeen years old," he said. 
"I have traveled from the iUlantic to the Pacific, and 
there is not w r ater enough in the two oceans to wash out 
the everlasting shame and disgrace ot my poor wrecked 
life. But that is not what is hurting me to-night, for 
this life is like 'dead sea ashes' to my fevered and rum- 
cracked lips. My father is one of the wealthiest men 
in this city — you know him, he was at the meeting to- 
night, Well, right down there on the next street, my 
poor, faded darling wife, that I took from a pleasant 
home, has gone to bed hungry, with my three little bare- 
limbed children. My father puts no confidence in me — 
I don't blame him — but I w^ould not have this city to 



52 WARP AND WOOF. 

know my destitute condition to-night for the world. 
My father is a very proud man, yet I learned my drink- 
ing at home in the social glass. Harry, I was thinking 
of suicide to-night when some unforeseen spirit led me 
into the opera house; and, as God is my judge, I want to 
try and see if I can be a man. Not for myself — that's 
past — but for those darlings of mine in bed down there. 
They are tugging at my heart-strings to-night, and there 
is something in my throat that is choking me. I have 
but two friends to-night on earth; one is my poor, 
wronged, cheated and faded darling, and my mother. 

Here I stand, a strong-armed, desperate man, ready to go 
to work to-night, and work at any thing, work till my 
fingers are worn out. I've made only two days this week; 
I could not get any more work to do; that was hard 
work shoveling coal, but I made $2.50. That's what 
us four have had to live on for one week, and pay rent. 
What do you think my proud-spirited father would say 
if he knew my circumstances. Burton, if you get me a 
job of work somewhere out of the sight and smell of 
cursed rum, your God shall be my God, and I will ven- 
erate your name forever. 

"I am a strong man yet, and only in my prime; but, 
Oh! I have drank and tasted this bitter cup to the very 
dregs. Is there hope for me? You said to-night that 
you could reform any man who had a desire to live a 
better life. Is this true?" 

"Yes, yes," I replied, "God is able and willing to 
save even to the uttermost. He says, 'come unto me all 
ye weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' ' 

Oh! that hopeful, joyous look that shown out through 
those glistening, tear-dimmed eyes, as he stood clasping 
my hand that beautiful moonlight night, will live with 



WAR? AND WOOF. 53 

me forever. He started down the street with clinched 
hand raised toward the blue canopy of Heaven, and said, 
"God helping me, I will be a man." I went up to my 
room and went to bed; but not to sleep. The drowsy 
god was far away. I got up and walked the room, and 
asked myself a thousand times, u Is there a being on earth 
who would dash the cup from that poor tired wanderer's 
lips as he is about to taste the waters of life that are flow- 
ing so pure and free from the everlasting fountain? Is 
there a wretch on earth who would meet that man out 
on the sandy desert of the plains of life — tired, hungry, 
dying for water, with the land of gold almost in view — 
who would dare to otter a glass of cursed ram to that 
lonely man — repentant, heart-sore — who is standing on 
the bare floor, looking down on all his earthly posses- 
sions, the loved forms of his abused and hungry wife and 
children, ready to begin life anew?" Oh! the wretch who 
would even tempt that man, could never be portrayed 
by the pen of Harry Burton. 




54 WABP AND WOOF. 

A WAR REMINISCENCE. 



Charley Miller and I were schoolmates twenty years 
ago, in the old log school house at Wood's Cross-roads, 
in Ohio. We were "Damon and Pythias" in and out of 
school, and old Porter always gave us the same number 
across his knee. I often think of the plans we laid for 
the future, when we should become of age; how we 
would travel in foreign lands, and how anxious loving 
friends would be, writing long letters, telling us of the 
changes that were going on about home. We parted in 
youth, our parents removing to a distant State. We 
pledged eternal fidelity to each other at parting, and 
promised to join each other at the age of twenty-one. 

Charley was handsome. He had a clear, blue eye, 
that always seemed to turn black when he got angry. 

Ten long years had been added to the appointed time 
of our meeting, when we met, and another such meeting 
I never wish to have with a friend on earth! Our regi- 
ment belonged to the 9th corps, and our quarters were 
near the "Yellow House," in front of Petersburg. The 
"Johnnies" had been quite noisy for some time, and were 
having it pretty much their own way, when the morning 
of the 30th of July, at 3 o'clock, we were ordered to fall 
in, which we did with a will, while the "long roll" was 
sounding in many ears that would never hear it again. 
Our company — K, 13th Ohio, Paul V. Petard, Captain 
— was standing in line at "parade rest," when something 
went up, and we thought Petersburg had taken the 
course of Milton's "Satan through illimitable space." 
Several thousand sons of old Virginia's shore, were made 
a living sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. The negro 



WARP AND WOOF. 55 

brigade made a charge through the blown-up fort, and 
ours the third following. When the negroes got 
through, the rebels were panic stricken, and threw down 
their arms to surrender. The negroes charged on them, 
raising the cry of "Fort Pillow! Fort Pillow!" Then 
there was a scene which beggars description. The rebels 
seized their arms and made a counter-charge on the 
negroes, driving them like chaff before the wind. Our 
brigade had got down into the aperture of the blown-up 
fort, when the negroes rushed over us, enonilfino; us as 
completely as were the hosts of Pharoah, in the Red 
Sea. Some were buried out of sight; others were fast 
in the debris, buried to the waist. The cries of the 
wounded and dying, the curses of the enraged "rebs" 
and howling of the negroes, — but worst of all, that 
never-ceasing, enfilading tire of shot and shell, poured in 
on us from the guns of the rallied "Johnnies" — formed 
a scene to which the hell in Watts- "World to Come," 
couldn't hold a candle. Flag after flag of truce was 
hoisted; they didn't want peace, but for the thirty-six of 
the longest eternity hours, while Old Sol, himself, 
seemed ministering to the occasion, and was standing 
still at the command of a modern Lee, instead of an 
ancient Joshua, while we were confined in that hole. One 
fat, old Brigadier, offered to commission any man who 
would bring him a drink of water. Dozens tried it, and 
never returned. A young man, with Lieutenant's straps 
on, started with a canteen and came back with his left arm 
gone. He waved his sword with his remaining arm, 
cheering the dying men, while his eyes took on the same 
old hue, as when angered in childhood. 'Twas Charley 
Miller, my boyhood chum, and the u boy was father to 
the man;" and when the prospect of death flits through 



56 WAR** AND WOOF. 

his mind, may he never contemplate a grave half so dis- 
mal as the Petersburg mine. I could compare it to 
nothing but the piece Charley used to speak on Friday 
afternoons, at Porter's school — Byron's Waterloo: 
"Rider, horse, friend, foe — in one red burial blent." 

Charley was taken to City Point Hospital, a distance 
of nine miles, where he was "lopped" in good shape. 
The old 9th corps kept talking to the "Johnnies" for over 
six months, until the morning of the ever-memorable 
3d of April, when Little Phil made a finish of the job, 
begun the morning of the 30th of July, eight months 
previous. 



PUPPY LOVE/' 



Poets may invoke the muses, and chant in rhyme of 
raven black hair, piercing eyes and rosy cheeks; the 
Scottish bards may sing of "Helen Mar" and "Highland 
Mary;" our own writers may tell in glowing terms of 
our Nellies, Debbies, Pollies and Mollies; trousseaus, 
point lace and orange blossoms — but ours is an humbler 
goddess, a being without wings, eye-glass or trail, and 
may be distinguished by her neat, little white apron, as 
she presides over the coffee-pot, and is called the "hired 
girl." She used to twist her hair up in a knot on the 
back part of her head, and fasten it with a nice comb. 
Of a cold, frosty morning, to see her get breakfast, was 
good for the sore eyes; when she walked, she ran. She 
would have the old-fashioned ham standing on edge, cut- 
ting it down through the middle; and those slices of 
meat were sure to be the right thickness, and perfectly 



WARP AND WOOF. 



57 



level when placed in the long-handled skillet. Then she 
would jump around to the oven door, open it, jerk out a 
pan of browning coffee, stir it, push it back, and pull 
out the biscuit, break one up in the corner, to see if they 
were done on the bottom. Then the bright, old-fash- 
ioned coffee-pot, that had just began to boil out at the 
snoot, she would set it down carefully on the hearth, and 
settle it, by pouring some out in a cup, and then pouring 
it back — one smell of that coffee would cure a man if he 
were in the last stages of consumption. She would 
whirl around on one foot, pull out the table, spread the 
cloth, and then to hear the dishes rattling from the old- 
fashioned, three-cornered cupboard on to the table, was 
music such as Madame Anna Bishop or Christine Nils- 
son, could never learn to play. 

One cold, frosty morning, I had been watching her get 
breakfast — I shall never forget it; she was making more 
than music with the dishes. I was standing in front of 
the old fire-place, with my arm resting on the mantle, 
my head bent forward, resting on my hand. I was busy 
thinking; she slipped up and pinched my ear and said, 
"a penny for your thoughts." I turned around to speak 
— my boyish face red as a spanked baby — when she 
began to jingle the little breakfast bell, calling the u old 
folks" to breakfast; then she broke out into a roguish 
laugh that sent me out of doors flying, before the old 
folks entered. I was only eighteen and verdant. I was 
mortified, and vowed to be even with her. Folks called 
it "puppy love." I grew to be a misanthrope; ran away 
from home, worked hard, and formed other associations. 
It was long years before I returned home to stay. She 
was married to a good, honest farmer. When I re- 
turned, I called to see her; three of the nicest, chubbiest 



58 WARP AND WOOF. 

roly-polys of boys, were baking little cakes on top of the 
stove, while she was rolling out the dough for biscuits; 
she had on a nice little white apron, and did not look a 
day older than on that morning she sent me out with 
my heart throbbing with the wildest "puppy love" that 
ever affected human breast, but it was the love of my 
life, aud if ever I do marry, it will be u the hired girl" 
with the little white apron. 



BOO MEN WANTED 



In LaFayette, to Work in the Temperance Cause, From 

Fifty Gents up to Three Dollars Per Day can be 

Saved by Skilled Workmen, who have Been in 

the Habit of Visiting Saloons, 

The Perquisites, in Connection With the Job, Will 

be Good Grub, Decent Company, and a 

Clean, Biled Shirt, at the End 

of Each Week. 

We wish to employ five hundred picked men and 
boys, for ten years, to stay outside of the saloons. 
Steady employment will be given to those who are found 
trusty. All workmen will be required to wear a badge 
while in the service, which will consist of a piece of 
Blue Ribbon, about two inches in length. For further 
particulars inquire at the "Herald" office, 108 Main 
Street, or at Blue Ribbon Hall on Sixth, near Main 
Street. 

P. S.— No references will be required from former 
employers, and no questions asked, in regard to past 
conditions of servitude. All questions cheerfully an- 
swered free^of charge by Harry Burton. 



WARP AND WOOF. 59 

EUREKA. 



It has become quite popular of late years for men of 
wealth when shuffling off "this mortal coil" to found 
some kind of an asylum either for orphans, inebriates or 
abandoned women. JSTow we would suggest that the 
next millionaire who passes in his checks found a build- 
ing large enough to corral all the whisky sellers in the 
United States, and dispense with all the rest. This sug- 
gestion would be w^orth millions yearly to the Govern- 
ment, if they would adopt it, and we will agree to not 
charge any royalty for the patent. 



CONSISTENCY. 

Every nuisance in the city that tends to breed disease, 
should be abated. The Board of Health should look 
after this matter and report. It will not do to stand on 
ceremony. Let the alleys, the streets, the out-houses 
and the gutters, be Kept clean. Too much care can not 
be exercised in this matter. All citizens can take a part 
in keeping the city clean. The ordinance relative to the 
depositing of tilth, slops, &c, in alleys, should be rigidly 
enforced, and special instructions should be given the 
officers to arrest all parties violating the same.— 
Journal. 

Now, that is good advice, but like pop-gun shooting, 
the wad falls short of the mark. You may clean the 
streets and alleys of LaFayette till they resemble the 
courts of Heaven, but just as long as the breweries, 
still-house, saloons and doggeries, are allowed to pour 



60 WARP AND WOOF. 

out a constant stream of licentious prompting — disease 
breeding, soul killing — wife beating — murder incentive, 
liquid hell fire, with the rankest compound of villainous 
stench that ever drove a dog from a tan-yard, just so long 
we may expect to have the white horse champing his bit 
at the starting pole, straddled by his old-time Jockey's 
disease and death. 



TALKING FOR WHISKY. 



That sounds strange to the unsophisticated; but, nev- 
ertheless, there are a great number of "bummers" in all 
well regulated communities who make their drinks by 
talking. If we go into a saloon to take a glass of cider 
the bummer approaches us with outstretched hand, a 
genial smile on his physiogomy. He looks so glad to see 
us, and says: "Do you remember the last night we were 
together in Sam Frysby's saloon?" We can't exactly 
recollect the time; but he says it in such a mellow, old- 
fashioned, would-be-joyful sort of way that no Christian 
man could fail to recollect some time or place they had 
met. He says, "Well, that was the dogondest night ever 
I put over on terra firma." You ask him if he won't 
have something. Well, he don't care if he does, in mem- 
ory of the old times at Frysby's. He fills his glass level 
full and drinks it. That's what he has been talking for. 
Another time you enter in a hurry. He is standing mid- 
dle-ways of the counter, his elbows resting on it. He has 
been telling the bar-tender how they do over to Jake's 
saloon, and that that kind of business would "bust" any 



WARP AND WOOF. 61 

body. You crowd up and call for a glass of cider. He 
turns as if to step out of the way; catches sight of you. 
"With that same old smile, and outstretched hands, he 
greets you, and exclaims, "Well! well! Well! The ghost 
of Hamlet's father." He would continue on, but you ask 
him to "take something;" and a man would not be hu- 
man who could stand there and drink without asking him 
up, well knowing that's what he was talking for. And 
if the proprietor owns a "terrier," as is often the case, 
he is the special champion of that "dorg" at all times; 
takes him on his lap ; strokes him gently on the back ; 
then thumps him on the nose just hard enough to make 
him show his little teeth; then, just loud enough to be 
heard by the first customer who comes in, he'll bet a Y 
that dog can get away with more rats than any two dogs 
in town. Of course you have to look at him. Then he 
sets him on the floor and is so tickled at the little "cuss." 
That means whisky, just as plain as the nose on your face. 
"Alas, poor Yoriek!" We have carried him on our back 
a thousand times, but he grew too fat and got too heavy, 
so we put him down and let him walk. That young man 
who goes rushing along the street with some papers in 
his hand and pencil above his ear, stops in a saloon to 
take a light drink and have a cracker, takes a roll of bills 
so negligently from his left vest pocket, hardly looking to 
see whether it is a large or small one, and is not particu- 
lar about the change; he tells the boys he don't care for 
money. I say he'll be "talking for whisky," or "petting 
the dog" before another Centennial, or never believe 
Harry Burton. 



62 WAKP AND WOOF. 

ALL FOR RUM. 



About 5 o'clock one evening, as we were standing at a 
gentleman's gate, on Tippecanoe street, talking, when a 
woman, perhaps sixty years of age, came staggering 
along the side-walk, gave us a punch in the back, and in- 
quired in a drunken, disconnected manner, the way to a 
certain saloon. We gave her the desired information, 
and she staggered on down the street, taking up the whole 
side-walk as she passed along. We took a good look 
into that motherly-looking old face. ".No drunkard can 
enter the Kingdom of Heaven." That woman is the 
mother of three stalwart, strong-armed men, who never 
get drunk. A motley crowd of street gamins followed 
the old woman, hallowing at the top of their depraved 
voices, that would never be manly. As we stood gazing 
at the old woman a familiar face of other years came up 
very close. We knew the face was out of sight forever; 
but we always loved that face. Yet we saw it then as 
clearly as the day it was hid from view — that most sor- 
rowful day of all our life. Oh! mother, after the dead 
pain at our sinful hearts through all these years — after so 
long a time— to think that we almost felt glad that thou 
art in the grave. 

We passed on down the street among the busy throng; 
but still that face. Into the club-room — the same sad, 
quiet motherly face — back home — alone on the deserted 
street — beneath the beautiful stars that mock us in our 
longings after the infinite — very near — but we can not 
reach out — must still endure — slavery of the soul — cursed 
rum — madness — delirium tremens — man not enough — 



WARP AND WOOF. 63 

but the faces of our aged mothers — it's the law now — 
licensed by Christians. Columbus, Mayflower, Wash- 
ington, Garrison, Lincoln — all gone at one fell swoop — 
labored in vain for cursed rum. 



GOOD CREAM ALE. 



Any body who thinks beer, is not good should have 
been with us last Monday morning early. We were 
watching a man watering the garden with it, out of his 
mouth. He couldn't regulate the thing sprinkler style. 
It came up by fits and starts, knocking down onion and 
potato tops. He clapped both hands to his head saying, 
u My God" when up his God came, on top of a little 
woolly dog that was out trying to get a sniff of morning 
air. The dog looked like it had crawled cut of a kettle 
of very soft soap. That beer smelt to heaven and stunk 
to hades; but it was good. We could tell by the way he 
panted and rolled his eyes, and sat down in a tub of dir- 
ty clothes put to soak, and cursed by his "mine Got in 
himmel." We asked him if it was good, and he called 
for a chew of Limberger cheese to get the taste out of his 
mouth. In the eternal titness of things, we told him to 
soak his head in the slop bucket for a couple of hours at 
least. 

Beer is good, you bet; for next Monday morning he'll 
spread compost on the garden again, in the shape of 
good, sour, larger, double-distilled over night, that would 
flip a bung high as a tree- top. If he does, we hope he'll 
never smile again. 



64: WARP AND WOOF. 

MINISTRY. 



Ordination cf a Minister for the Devil, 



A board of elders (commonly called commissioners) set 
apart by the people to ordain and set apart for this par- 
ticular ministry. 

The candidate having been moved by the spirit (whis- 
ky), feels that he is called, and having the evidence within 
him, presents his claims, gives his experience, and being 
properly endorsed to what amount is necessary by one 
of his own persuasion, now demands his credentials (li- 
cense). His morals are vouched for; his examination 
completed. The Elders consult, and, at last, with feel- 
ings of pleasure, ordain and set apart the candidate as a 
full-fledged minister of the devil, with power to deal 
death and damnation all around. He holds aloft to the 
gaze of the world his rum-sellers' license, showing he is 
fully set apart by the above ordination to regularly tempt 
men, change them into beasts, to stain the streets with 
their blood, to destroy happy homes, break loving and 
tender hearts, and to carry desolation and dismay into all 
our homes. But he is justified, for we have given him 
power to do all this, and when he is called before the 
Eternal Judge he will produce his authority as granted 
by the Board of Elders. 



WARP AND WOOF. 65 

MY HAUNTED HOUSE. 



Or, the Spirit of the Wine Cup, 



While I was firing engine 53 for Sam Q., on the west 
end, we used to pass a house every night, in which a 
light would be burning in the upper story. I had often 
noticed the light, but had given it no particular atten- 
tion until a short time before leaving the road. Sam 
had never mentioned it, as he was always thinking about 
making the fastest time on the road, and if "Old Sol" 
had burst forth in all his glory at the "dead and witch- 
ing" hour of midnight, I doubt if he would have taken 
his eyes off the "cross-head," playing back and forth 
between the "guides." 

One night I called Sam's attention to it, remarking 
that there must be some kind of a spirit infesting that 
house, for the light was always burning in the upper 
story. Sam came over to my side, and took a look at it, 
then went back to gaze on his "cross-head," saying, "I 
guess not." Now, if a man wanted to make me red hot 
after I had told him something, in dead earnest, just let 
him repeat those three little words — "I guess not." 

They sink deeper into my inmost soul, than any other 
words in the English language. I kept giving 53 extra 
doses of black diamonds from that on, until Sam said lie 
guessed I'd got enough coal in that "tire-box," and to be 
revenged, I simply said — "I guess not." 

The very next night, about 12 o'clock, as we were 
pounding twenty-five loads toward LaFayette, in passing 
the house the light was there, and seemed to be burning 
brighter than usual. It was up grade, and we were run- 



66 WAKP AND WOOF. 

ning very slow, and the "gauge" didn't only show 80 
pounds of "wind," as I had given "old 53" an over dose 
of diamonds, and she hadn't time to work them off. 

Sam had dropped the "reverse-lever" down in the 
LaFavette notch, and was feeding her a few grains of 
sand, to keep her heels from flying up, for when she did 
"slip," she never stopped till she had wound herself up. 
In working the "sand-lever," Sam happened to look 
toward the house, for we were nearly opposite, and his 
attention had probably been drawn towards it, by our 
r emarks the evening previous. I was startled by Sam's 
remarking: "Look there! Look there!" By the powers 
of "Moll Kelly," there is a Spirit in that house, and it's 
alive: you can gamble on that! ! I went over to Sam's 
side, gave one look, and beheld a sight I shall never for- 
get. In the middle of the room, in the upper story of 
the house, was a man in his night clothes — club in hand 
— striking, as if for life, at some imaginary foe. About 
every third stroke he would jump from the floor to the 
ceiling, striking his head each time. 

"We could see the terrible expression on that man's 
face, jumping around there in that lonely room, in that 
country house, at the dead hour of midnight, with no 
one present — while he was fighting those demons of 
Hell, with his gleaming eyes starting from their sockets, 
in terror and despair. It sends a chill over me to this 
hour. Sam went back to his "cross-head" and I didn't 
hear a word out of him, till we pulled into LaFayette 
yard. I left the road a short time after this occurrence^ 
but happened to be passing the same house a couple of 
years afterwards, and stopped to take a look at it, as the 
memory of that scene came to my mind. 

An old farmer was passing, and I asked him who 



WARP AND WOOF. 67 

owned that farm. He said some lawyers in the city 
owned it now, or were holding it in trust. But who 
lived there a couple of years ago? I used to call that 
my "haunted house," when I run on the road. Oh, I 
know who you mean, now. George Reyburn lived there 
then, and owned the place. Poor George died with the 
"delirium tremens." 

His daughter Eva, lives over to the next neighbor's, 
and works for her board and clothes. 

She's a mighty pert girl, too, and folks used to think 
she'd be rich, but George got ' to drinking so hard, the 
Court had to tend to his business. While we were 
standing there talking a tow-headed "Hollander" came 
out of the house, smoking a pipe, and carrying a pail of 
swill to some fat, lazy porkers, that were grunting assent 
just outside the fence. 

"The Court has put him here to tend to things, and 
keep up the place." Ten to one, he'll do it, I replied, and 
own the farm before two years. This is a true story, 
with the exception of names. The Spirit that inhabited 
the upper story of "my haunted house" was the Spirit of 
Cursed Rum! 

He is sitting on the ridge-pole of every house in this 
land; as the black-hued raven perched over the cham- 
ber door of "Edgar Allen Poe," croaking the eternal 
doom of "Never More." Although his hands are 
washed in the "holy water" of orphans' and widows' 
tears, and dyed in the blood of the toiling sons of men, 
he is welcomed, according to Law. He comes to the 
"festal board" wreathed in Beauty's smiles, with the 
cabalistic Shibboleth of Welcome! Welcome! Thrice 
Welcome! ! Great is Law. 



68 WAKP AND WOOF. 

THE BAR-ROOM VERDICT. 



A promiscuous crowd of gentlemen and loafers were 
seated in the bar-room of Smith's Hotel, in Attica, busily 
engaged in discussing the temperance question. They 
had about conned over all the stereotyped phrases of the 
day in regard to it. 

One said that as long as it was made it would be drank. 

Another that he could either drink it or let it alone. 

And another that whisky was a good thing in its 
place, &c. 

One self-important individual stepped up to the bar 
to take a light drink, as he called it, prefacing the action 
with the remark that whisky didn't hurt any body who 
didn't drink it. The words were scarcely uttered when a 
stout, burly-looking man, who had been an attentive list- 
ener all evening, arose to his feet and said: 

"That's a lie!" 

All eyes were turned on the speaker, for, in saloon par- 
lance, they expected a muss. The burly man paid no at- 
tention to the warlike demonstrations of the man he had 
given the lie; but waved his hand as if to command at- 
tention, and said: 

"Listen. Twenty years ago, when the packets were 
running on the 'ditch' that skirts the town, my father 
moved from a distant State and settled in a village on the 
canal, forty miles east of Attica. He was a hard-work- 
ing, honest mechanic, a devout member of the Baptist 
Church, and had never drank a drop of liquor in his 
life. 

"Those were the halcyon days that my friend with the 
glass likes to tal^: about, 'when whisky was pure' (?). All 



WAEP AND WOOF. 69 

the difference between then and now is — ^then whisky ruled 
the hour; now it rules the day. 

"My father being a temperance man, a thing very un- 
usual in the good old days of 'pure whisky,' became the 
object ot hatred to all the saloon men and whiskyites in 
the town. The more especially for his being instrument- 
al in saving several misguided men from drunkards' 
graves. 

"When Spring election day came round, it was the 
grand gala day of the year for drinking, showing horses, 
gouging out eyes, gnawing ears, and biting off noses. The 
day ended in the glory of the 'victors' being taken home 
by the best knockers in that meek of woods.' 

"About 4 o'clock on that memorable day for me, when 
the sport was about over, that is, w^hen the lighting was 
over, and several poor fellows were hanging around with 
gouged eyes, scratched faces, and bloody noses, regret- 
ting, perhaps, that they had come to Oshkosh, the saloon- 
keeper, wishing to have the sport continue as long as 
possible, suggested that it would be a good time for the 
'boys' to 'tune up the old Baptist.' 

"Glorious thought! 'Bully boy with a glass eye!' was 
chimed by the drunken brutes. There was an old bruiser 
in the crowd who had four 'noble sons,' who the old man 
liked to tell about when warmed up by pure old juice. 
'They had never taken the lie from any man who wore 
hair on his breast;' was his proud boast. They called my 
father out of his shop, which stood close to the lock, 
pretending to show him some work to be done. He had 
just got as far as the balance-beams of the lock when he 
was attacked by them. My father, being a stout man, 
and no coward, grasped the old man by the collar and 
shoved him across the beam, when the sons tripped my 



70 WARP AND WOOF. 

father, and his leg slipped into a muskrat hole. He fell 
backwards, breaking his leg at the ankle, with the bone 
protruding through his flesh. While lying in that con- 
dition the old man and his sons got in their work kick- 
ing my father, until coaxed to desist by the saloon-keep- 
er, who said he guessed that would be enough for him 
for that time! I was standing in the crowd, a little bare- 
footed boy, crying for my father, my feet trampled and 
bleeding, by those demons of 'pure' whisky. 

"Mv father's leg was set wrong by a drunken doctor. 
He lay on his back for nearly two years, has hobbled all 
his life, and will go to his grave a crippled, morose, un- 
forgiving man. I was the oldest son and only support of 
a worse than widowed mother and six small children. 

"The gentle red men who murdered Custer are angels 
when compared with the saloon-keeper and his victims. 
That man, gentlemen, who was on the point of taking a 
'light drink,' is one of the sons who crippled my fath- 
er. That man just made the remark that whisky 
never hurt any body who didn't drink it. Yon all heard 
me give the lie. Was it right?" 

"Yes, yes," was echoed all round the room in thunder 
tones, and will be echoed to eternity. 

He pushed through the crowd that had gathered around 
him to find the subject of his remarks. He was gone! 
His glass of whisky was standing on the counter un- 
touched. He pushed on through the crowd to the door, 
muttering: 

' 'There is not on earth a lonesome glen 
So secret but wejmeet again" 



WAKP AND WOOF. 71 

THE SEWING MACHINE FIEND. 



"Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor." 

We had come in off the engine after an all-night's hard 
run on the road, and piled down on the bed to take a lit- 
tle of "tired nature's sweet restorer." The drowsy god 
was taking flights, and would not be wooed. We had 
rolled over time and again — counted a hundred — then 
fifty — and had commenced on ten, when we heard a rap 
at the front door. Mrs. B. w 7 as mixing biscuit for 
dinner, and came through the room with her sleeves 
rolled up, rolling-pin in hand. She glanced toward the 
bed as she passed, and I was playing sleep, with the 
blanket pulled over my head. Jack (the terrier) was on 
hand as usual, and soon as the door was opened he gave 
a yelp and bounced out. Thinks I, a peddler, sure. I 
heard a scream which resembled a locomotive whistle 
toned down with a block in it. Jack was called off, when 
a lady stepped into the room, saying she was a sewing 
machine agent! If I had only known it in time, she'd 
never have come under our "battlements" with Mrs. B. 
standing in the door, with as good a rolling-pin in her 
hand as ever flattened pie-crust. I found a hole in the 
blanket, where I could peep out, or take in atmosphere, 
as the exigency of the case required. - To have the Jidgets 
when you want to go to sleep is bad enough, but to have 
a sewing machine agent come in and sneer at you for be- 
ing so poor that you couldn't buy a machine, and even 
hint at your ancestors who came over in the "Mayflower," 
is satanic sweetness boiled down. How we did long to 
see that rolling-pin waive— -any thing for a change .We 



72 WARP AND WOOF. 

even hoped it might light on our "cranium," and depress 
the bump of veneration, which is so prominent. But no; 
even that secret wish proved an aching void. Mrs. B. 
had become interested, and was resting her chin on the 
end of the rolling-pin. The agent asked how we ever 
did get along without a machine? How many children 
we had? Whether I had steady work? What my occu- 
pation was, and whether 1 worked when I could? Wheth- 
er I didn't spend the price of a machine every six months 
foolishly? 

She would like to see herself stitching the ends of her 
fingers off, with a great, lazy lout of a man wallowing on 
the bed in the day time. She said I could borrow the 
first payment of $40; then pay $5 per month, till it was 
paid out. We could even afford to skimp ourselves for 
a year for the privilege of securing a machine. 

That settled it; the weather was getting too warm un- 
der that blanket. We sat straight up in bed, feeling like 
we had an attack of the nightmare. In less than one 
hour by the ticker a machine was clicking under our 
nose on the skirt of a "polonaise," cut Mas, while the 
agent sat there interesting Mrs. B. about the ^bobbin" 
and that wad of dough, laying on the kitchen table un- 
touched. We shut our eves and tried to think of all the 
friends we had, old and new; but couldn't see $40. Oh 
for a cyclone — a volcanic eruption — a little crush of 
worlds — any thing to start her. If she'd even have ta- 
ken the form of Lot's wife, so we could lick her. But 
no; nothing of the kind was ever known to come as a re- 
lief to outraged, heart-sore, suffering humanity. There 
she sat, tucking, frilling, snipping, goring, cutting bias 
on that everlasting, dod blasted, bobbin polonaise, 'till 
we got so hot, we just sent that old blanket to the ceil- 



WARP AND WOOF. 73 

ing with one foot, and touched the floor so quick with the 
other, she left, promising to call next day, and see how 
it worked, and get $40. 

P. S. — Why couldn't we fall heir to a small fortune as 
well as other fellows? We have a veritable ginger cake 
on the calf of our leg, which is just as good as a straw- 
berry mark on the right arm any day. Such another set 
of uncles, and cousins, and aunts as we've got would beat 
the oldest bald headed orphan that lives! 



MY TOUCH ME NOT. 



I used to be acquainted with a sturdy, old farmer, 
named "Sol Wise." He was wealthy and uneducated in 
book learning, and report said he was a reformed drunk- 
ard. I stopped at his house one night, and in the course 
of the evening's conversation, I made bold to ask him if 
such was the truth. He replied that it was, and said, 
"young man, 1 well recollect my last spree. I had been 
drinking very hard for about three months, and had 
squandered every cent I possessed in the world. 

"I used to get my drinks of a saloonist who had a wife 
that w T as a regular old "singe cat," and as the saying is 
"the gray mare always proved to be the better horse." 
One day after having spent all my money, and being a 
little drunker than usual, I went into the saloon and 
thought I'd try and beg a drink, for my hair was pulling 
terrible. When I went into the saloon, there was no 
one at the bar — they were in another room at dinner. 
I looked round for a moment, then seized one of the 



74 WARP AND WOOF. 

bottles of liquor from across the counter, and ran away 
with it. I had got about half way home with my prize, 
when, in passing through an alley, who should I meet 
but Mary, my wife. She was looking for me as she al- 
ways did when I was bad. Mary discovered the bottle 
I had stolen, and was persuading me to take it back, 
when, who should come up but the old "singe cat," the 
saloon-keeper's wife. She did not like Mary, for she 
knew that she had often tried to prevent me from going 
to the saloon. She thought now was her time to have 
vengeance on poor Mary. 

"She flew at her, and fastened her fat, bloated hands in 
Mary's shining, curly hair, and jerked it out by the 
handsful, while I stood there a helpless, speechless, 
drunken sot. She quit when tired out, and her vile 
passion had spent its fury. Mary and I got home — how, 
I never could tell; but I was sitting in a chair looking 
bewildered into poor Mary's face, and holding her curls 
in my hand But I tell you, young man, 'Sol Wise' 
was perfectly sober for once^ and always has been since 
that hour." I rolled up one of the curls of hair in a 
piece of paper, and put it in my old leather pocket book, 
where it has been since that day. But, uncle Sol, don't 
you ever want a drink, when you are where it is? 

"No, no," he replied, with flashing eyes; "if I did, all 
I would have to do would be to open this old pocket- 
book and look at that curl of Mary's hair. I call it my 
'Touch Me Not: " 



WARP AND WOOF. 75 

SAM Q'S "TIME ORDER." 



Coming in on "No, 8, "--Old Dan's "Dog House,"~A Run 
From Danville to Attica, 



About three years ago, when business was so brisk on 
the Wabash, I was firing old 53, for Sam Q. And she 
was conceded to be a little the smartest engine on the 
road. All the engineers generally gave Sam a pretty wide 
berth at passing points, getting clear in out of the road, 
without the variations. The old 53 was often known to 
thunder along with her twenty -five loads at a little less 
than a mile per minute. Or, as Sam used to remark, 
about a hard pulling train: "Well, warm h — 1 out of 
em." There was one run on the road that the men all 
hated, because the time was eight hours from Danville to 
LaFayette. It was No. 8, and we had to "kill time" all 
over the road when we got that run. One evening Sam 
came into the round-house at Danville, and spoke to me, 
while I was on the running-board, saying, "we've got 
that d — d No. 8 to-night, again, and old Dan T. for con- 
ductor, and if that isn't a nice 'lay out' I don't want a 
cent." Old Dan T., as the boys called him, was an old 
conductor off the New York Central, and a good one, too, 
but a little too Methodical for Sam. They didn't like to 
run together for Sam had shook that 'dog house' of old 
Dan's up a time or two, till Dan had put all the "red 
lights" out, swearing, for he could beat any man swear- 
ing that ever swung a lamp. We received orders to run 
to LaFayette "light;" that is, with nothing but Dan's 
caboose. We hooked on, and run to the Line, when 
Sam couldn't stand it any longer. He went into the tel- 



76 WARP AND WOOF. 

egraph office, and asked LaFayette for a time order, that 
is, to come in ahead of time, but LaFayette said no. 
Dan felt thankful and we run over to Marshfield to lay 
for time. When we got there, Sam piled down, and said 
he was going to have a sleep. We had laid about an 
hour, and Dan had been to the engine a time or two with 
his lamp, looking very wistful at Sam, laying there, 
"sawing gourds," and dreaming, perhaps, of shaking up 
Dan's "dog house." I waked him up and said it was 
about time to go. He looked at his watch and muttered 
a curse about being waked up, and said he would stay 
there an hour longer, and then make Attica for No. 9. 
I knew he was joking, but did not like the way he spoke 
to me, mentally resolving not to wake him again until 
Gabriel blew his last horn, so we both piled down on the 
seats, and being worn out, we were asleep in a moment. 
I awoke with a start for I knew we had overslept our- 
selves. I jerked open the fire door and looked in; 'twas 
all out except a little in one corner of the "fire-box." 
I put on the "blower" and threw in some diamonds. 
Sam awoke, jerked out his watch, looked at it by the 
"gauge lamp," and swore we had only fifteen minutes to 
go to Attica, against .No. 9, a distance of fourteen miles. 
Dan said we couldn't make it; Sam swore he would if 
the wheels staid under the engine. He opened the throttle 
valve, and away we sped. The steam was pretty low 
but if we could make the top of the summit, we were all 
right, for then we had nine miles of down grade. We 
made it, and started down the summit, and of all the 
running I ever saw down hill with sixty pounds, I saw 
that night. Old Dan's dog house looked like it was 
turning somersaults, and Dan was bounced from one side 
of the caboose to the other, sometimes on his feet, then 



WARP AND WOOF. 77 

on his knees, and he was cursing and calling on all the 
Gods, Heathen and Divine, to bust him wide open, if 
he'd ever run with Sam again. I have often, when 
thinking of the past, imagined I saw Sam as he stood 
that night, with his left hand on the throttle lever, and 
in his right holding his open watch, counting the seconds 
as we neared the "stone cut" on Attica curve, with old 
53 dancing along at the rate of a mile per minute, and 
expecting every second to see No. 9's "headlight" loom 
up like a little world. Oh! 'twas a terrible moment, 
and one I never wish to see again. I shook as if I had a 
chill or the ague. We rounded the curve and entered 
the long bridge at Attica, and at the other end there 
stood the "brakeman" at the "switch target" waiting to 
let out No. 9. We came in on the last second of the 
variations. Sam smiled, but I thought it looked pretty 
sickly, by the flickering rays ot the gauge lamp, as he 
looked at his watch and "time card." Sam wouldn't 
have cared if he had not askel for that time order at 
State Line, but to ask for a time order to run ahead, and 
then not make your meeting point, would look bad, es- 
pecially when coming in "light." The hair being a 
little thin on the top of my head, Sam told the boys next 
morning in the round-house, that I lost it coming around 
"Attica Curve." I vowed never to forgive him, but 
when I saw old Dan a few hours later, I had to laugh in 
spite of myself. He was black and blue from head to 
foot. And I think if a man wanted a good sized head 
put on him, the best way to get it wo aid be to ask old 
Dan T., how he liked to ride on Sam Q's Time Order, 



78 WARP AND WOOF. 



CAN'T ENFORCE IT. 



About the only argument the red liquor men have 
against prohibition is, you canH enforce "it." That is 
as much as to say, that they would defy the General 
Government, just as they have been defying our abortion 
of an Indiana license law. Yet they are all "honorable 
men" and have a certificate of good moral character. 
That kind of beer bilge itself is enough to brand them 
with eternal infamy and traitors to the Government. 
Men who repeatedly and openly violate the laws of our 
country "day in and day out," there is no place good 
enough for them but behind the prison bars, and this 
would be in keeping with the spirit of the "Murphy 
pledge," and it would be much better for this commu- 
nity if the major portion of our plethoric beer ex- 
panded saloonatics, were snugly housed behind the prison 
bars, instead of whisky bars. 




WARP AND WOOF. 



79 



Augustus Adolphus Eugene Hareourt, 

of LaFayette, Tippecanoe 

County, Indiana. 

F. F. V. 



We noticed a young man one da} r last week who was 
arrayed in faultless costume and patent leather boots of 
the latest style. He was twirling a delicate, slender, lit- 
tle cane with such consumate skill that it seemed a part 
of him. He lifted his hat to some half a dozen ladies as 
they passed. It was with the perfection of grace — the 
latest a la mode. His line modulated voice, toned down 
for the conventional salutation, and the ring of his laugh- 
ter conveyed the impression to even a casual observer 
that he belonged to "one of out first families" He is 
called a gentleman, and is the frequenter of a very select 
circle. To his side crowd the fairest of LaFayette's 
mothers and daughters, with anxious heart whisperings 
that he is a splendid catch. Well, the other evening that 
fashionable young gentleman passed out of the door of a 
very fashionable saloon, in a fashionable quarter of the 
city. His face was flushed, eyes bleared, tongue thick, 
and he undoubtedly was trying to carry a pretty good 
load of the "rosy." A friend of ours remarked "What 
a pity; he don' know where he is going to." But he did 
know all the same, for he made a bee line for one of the 
most fashionable "disreputables" in the city. In the 
course of a couple of hours he came out, not secretly, as 
if the liason had been committed, in fear and trembling. 

No, sir; but he was holding forth to a boon companion 
in a loud tone of voice, over a saloon counter, telling him 
between the clinking of the glasses, of his "'respectable" 



80 WARP AND WOOF. 

adventure down at , in the unnoticed and uncared 

for presence of a room full, as if to say, u Who's afraid." 
Society sees and knows these things, and the world 
knows them, and winks at them, as much as to say, "boys 
will be boys." But if a girl makes one false step, though 
tempted and tried; from the moment she puts on her 
first long dress, and tempted by men of money, who 
make seduction a profession — adepts in the "black art;" 
but one false step, and she can bid adieu to hope, and 
steer tor the portals of the damned. Ministers of the 
Gospel may preach in thunder tones, and pronounce 
anathemas loud and deep on sin and crime, but so long 
as society welcomes to her homes such men as we have 
described, and this Government licenses saloons, just so 
long we may expect to sit and inhale the death damps of 
the mists and listen to the roar of the breakers. 



BOYS WILL BE BOYS. 



Yet Have Been Known to Ape the Manners of Men. 

One evening last week a crowd of boys were congre- 
gated on Seventeenth street, and after playing harmoni- 
ously for some time one of the number, feeling a little 
patriotic, proposed that they play party. The boys 
quickly separated and joined their respective parties 
(Democrat and Republican), and after cheering and hur- 
rahing for their leaders about half an hour, it was dis- 
covered that they were unequally divided, as one had 
eleven and the other twelve in number. The boys soon 



WARP AND WOOF. 81 

got to quarreling about the merits of their respective 
parties, and the whole thing was about to end in a gen- 
eral light, when a little chunky Dutch boy was discov- 
ered at some distance playing alongside ot a pile of 
brick. Both parties, hoping to swell their numbers, 
marched up to the boy, when one of them asked, "What 
are you doing here, Jakey?" The boy replied, "Why. 
me build a house/'' Another boy said, "dome, Jakey, 
and join our party; there is one too many on the other 
side; we want to be even." Another spoke up patroniz- 
ingly, and said: "I tell you that's a nice house, Jakey; 
what are you goin^ to put in it?" "Why, me start a 
saloon, sell beer, and make money." The boys stood 
around and regarded Jakey for a few moments, when the 
leader of the weaker party said: "Now, look here, Jakey, 
I tell you what we'll do. If you come and join our party 
we will patronize your saloon, and when we elect officers 
again we will make you Captain, Strange that men 
never adopt that kind of policy. 



NO MISTAKE. 

If temperance is a good thing why not inculcate the 
principles in both parties. Shame on two great parties 
of the proudest nation on earth, that dare not do what 
they both claim to be right. We don't claim to be a 
prophet, or the son of a prophet; but we make the pre- 
diction that the party that avails itself of the opportunity 
to lay hold on this temperance question, will be the party 
of the coming time. The political huckster who tells 



82 WARP AND WOOF. 

you that the temperance cause will succeed without bring- 
ing the issue before the intelligent voters of this land, is 
certainly a knave or &fool. Give our noble women the 
ballot and the question would be settled the first issue, 
and yet our glorious parties are afraid to do that, and 
made the Constitution lie to avoid the issue. 

"Taxation without representation." How eloquently 
some "lager beer" statesman can plead for the poor en- 
slaved negro, or John Chinaman, and yet they can bear to 
see poor abused womanhood treading under a weary load 
from "sunny morn 'till dewy eve." This is the true 
sphere of woman, is it? To go out into the midnight 
darkness of the soul with a brute of a drunken husband, 
a libertine and a loathsome fraud. What a fine text on 
womanly forbearance and virtue is shown in the drunk- 
ard's wife, and preached all over this boasted land of free- 
dom. How it soothes the hungry cravings, and dries up 
the scalding tears. Give us more of the same kind of 
taffy, but withhold the antidote. There is not one man 
in a thousand, if he was a drunkard's wife, but what 
would run away with the first man that came along, be 
he black or white. 




WARP AND WOOF. 83 

THE LAFAYETTE BOY. 



The LaFayette boy lias been called a— lout — bat — 
hard case — dirty stinker — and almost every other pet 
name in the Anglo-Saxon vernacular. We say he's a 
cherub — yes, a daisy. The night we went down to the 
Square to hear the bald-headed man speak, who is always 
trying to pick a quarrel with God Almighty, for making 
the World tirst; there was a right smart chance of peo- 
ple present — and a couple of young ladies — or silly girls 
— don't know which — w T anted to see—hundreds of peo- 
ple behind them couldn't see the bald-headed man — at 
all — at all — men hallowed — get down — down in front — 
Women said it was a shame — a shame — Girls didn't 
hear — deaf as a deep-sea oyster — just then one of the 
Daisies warbled, ainft she purty — which one, said the 
cherub? Why — that — one— a standing up on that 
chair with the pug nose and hanged hair — well, those 
two girls sat down so quick — and so hard — that those 
little curly beau-catchers straightened out like a wet fish 
line. "Come to my arms, my dearest boy" — with all 
thy faults we love thee still. No man could have done 
half so well. 




84 WARP AND WOOF. 

A CLEAR CASE. 



My favorite boyhood chum was "George Green." He 
being the eldest of a large family ot children, and his 
father a cripple, left him the sole support of a worse than 
widowed mother and family. 

George Green was a good-natured, hard-working boy, 
but very proud. Many a time I've seen his face redden, 
when some thoughtless companion would allude to his 
scanty wardrobe. There was a wealthy family, consist- 
ing of the parents and two daughters, by the name of 
May, who lived on the adjoining farm to Green's. The 
May girls were named respectively Jane and Sarah, and 
were counted the "elite" and "ton" of all social gather- 
ings in the neighborhood. Love was a feeble expression 
for the feeling that George Green cherished for Jane 
May. Like "Claude Melnotte," he worshiped from afar. 
There was an "apple cutting" in the neighborhood one 
evening, in the Fall of '56. The young folks were gath- 
ered in from miles around. After the apples were fin- 
ished, playing commenced, which consisted of "marching 
down toward Quebec," "killing the British," "marrying 
off," and singing about your own "true love so early in 
the morning." 

Some imp of darkness, ordered George Green to weave 
three yards of carpet, to pay his pawn, which consisted 
in sitting on the floor, and bumping up and down, 
throwing a stick under him between bumps, for an imag- 
inary shuttle. Jane May held George's coat, while he 
was weaving, and when he got up from the floor he found 
her laughing heartily, while showing one of the patches 
on his coat, to some of the girls. That was the straw 



WARP AND WOOF. 85 

that broke the camel's back. He came to that house a 
boy in feeling, and went away a Napoleon in purpose. 

Twenty years, with all the changes, had come and 
gone. A year ago we visited the scenes of our youth. 
Our first inquiries were of George Green. He was liv- 
ing in the neighborhood — very wealthy — and was what 
the world calls an "old bach." People said I would find 
him stern and proud. He lived alone on one of his 
farms, in a fine brick mansion. We called on him. He 
met us at the gate and we marched into the house, hand 
in hand. He was the same good-hearted George Green, 
that we had known in boyhood. "George!" said I: "You 
are very wealthy, and an 'old bach.' How did it all 
come about?" He made no reply, but went to an old- 
fashioned chest in the room, and brought forth to my 
astonished gaze the identical coat he had worn that 
night of the "apple cutting." 

"That's how it all came about" he said, with a choking 
sensation in his throat. "The world scorned me when I 
was poor, now they hate me because I am rich." "But, 
what of Jane," we asked? "Why, she married a rich man, 
of course, and he died some two years ago, leaving her 
penniless. Oh, how I have longed to offer her a home 
and all the riches I possess in the world." "Go and pro- 
pose this very day," I said. I called in the evening, and 
found him looking dejected. "Too late," he said; "she 
has promised to marry a common laborer on a farm." 

"Is he a good respectable man?" "Why yes," he re- 
plied; "but he's so miserably poor!" I tried to let him 
down as gently as I could, and told him 'twas a pretty 
clear case. "Of what?" he replied. "Why," I replied, 
"of human nature." "No," he said bitterly, "it is 
Woman's nature." 



86 WARP AND WOOF. 

A VETERAN ENGINEER 



Andy Dodge has run an engine in and out of LaFay- 
ette, for twenty years, and is the veteran engineer of the 
Wabash road, and yet there are persons who have lived 
for years within one square of the depot, who do not 
know old Andy, as he is familiarly called by the firemen. 

Andy has run the night passenger run from LaFayette 
to Danville for the past eleven years, and has yet to meet 
with his first accident. He run a construction engine 
with the same success. He is at present on the ''light- 
ning" run, and that run was the beginning of my sor- 
row, for I was firing for Andy when it was first put upon 
the road. I shall never forget that trip. Every body 
connected with the road was anxious to know how it 
would do — whether the time could be made. 

I cleaned old 77 that day as she was never cleaned be- 
fore, while Andy was down in the pit with a lighted 
torch and hammer, looking her over. When he jumped 
out of the pit, a smile was plainly visible on his face, and 
he asked me for a chew of tobacco. Then I knew we 
were coming out all right. You may smile at such an 
assertion, but why is it that thousands of years ago, the 
flight of a bird or the hooting of an owl would exalt a 
nation to the pinnacle of fame, or send it down to dusty 
death. 

But enough of that. Andy run 77 out on the main 
track, and we sat on the u ragged edge," watching and 
counting the seconds, untilthe headlight loomed up over 
the hill. We got the train seventeen minutes late, 
backed up, coupled on, and started for LaFayette, with 
only one stop to make. When we passed through 



WARP AND WOOF. 87 

State Line we were going a mile a minute. The red 
lights and switch targets staring us in the face, and danc- 
ing around with the motion of the engine, made me 
think of "Home, sweet home." Andy picked up his 
card and looked at his watch — we had lost two minutes! 
He spit out that tobacco, locked his time card and watch 
in the box, and opened' that throttle valve one inch, and 
he did not look at them again until he had blown the 
whistle for LaFayette Junction — just eight minutes late! 
As near as I can remember, I had been knocked down 
twenty-four times, and skated from the lire-door to the 
back end of the tank, every time she got a diamond. 

When we reached the depot some rooster wearing a 
plug hat and eye-glass, got off, and remarked that we had 
been losing time. If it was not against the rules I 
would like to have asked that "fellah" a few- 

Andy never failed to make the run when he got the 
train any ways near on time. I wanted to resign and 
rent a small farm, and to get my hand in I bought a 
spade and turned up a patch in the back end of the lot, 
and set it out in beets, but the crop failed, and I have 
quit trying to make two blades of grass spring up where 
only one grew before. 

Each evening Andy may be seen running down through 
the yard from the round-house, preparing to start on his 
perilous ride. He never boasts of his work, he means 
business We have often asked ourselves: why don't he 
quit — he has plenty of money; he need never run another 
day; he has taken care of his salary. 'Tis because he 
loves his engine; he loves her for the dangers she has 
passed through. Other men may boast of titles, rank 
and w 7 ealth — Andy has his engine. They may sit around 
joyous hearths of pleasant homes— he is on his darling 



88 WARP AND WOOF. 

engine, flying with the wind. They may even tell of 
their lady loves, and it sounds like mockery, when com- 
pared to the unimpassioned love and admiration he bears 
for his glorious engine — she has carried him safe for 
twenty years, and he has never left her long enough to 
go to the home of his childhood.. 

Some may say he is only an engineer — just take a ride 
with him some dark and stormy night on his engine, and 
see what it takes to make an engineer; he has weathered 
all the changes of officials since the road was built, and 
he is the same old Andy of twenty years ago. That he 
may always see a white light swung overhead, assuring 
that all is clear as he speeds onward to the end of his 
trip, is the sincere wish of Harry Burton. 



(From the Courier.) 

DEATH IN THE PIT. 



Engineer Andrew Dodge, Killed Last Night, -- He is 
Caught Under His Engine and His Neck Broken, ~ 
N early $25,000 Found Upon His Person .-Par- 
ticulars of the Accident, 



One of the saddest accidents which we have been 
called upon to chronicle for a long time, occurred last 
evening at about 8 o'clock at the Wabash depot in this 
city, resulting in the death of Andrew Dodge, one of the 
oldest and most faithful engineers of the Wabash, St. 
Louis & Pacific Railway. 

He has been in the employ of the railway for twenty- 
three years, and during that time has always proved him- 
self a faithful, efficient and honorable servant. A num- 



WARP AND WOOF. 89 

ber of years ago Harry Burton, the talented author and 
journalist, who was at that time circulating a series of 
short stories and sketches to the Sunday Leader, wrote 
an article upon Andrew Dodge and his peculiarities. 
We reprint it in full on the first page to-day. It will be 
found to be well worth perusal, and the reference to the 
engineer's love for his engine and his work in the pit, in 
the very place where he met death, is full of touching 
interest." 

When his estate was settled, he was found to be worth 
over $60,000 



The Night She Carried the Day. 



Some two years ago, previous to the Spring election, I 
received a call to come and talk temperance at a town in 
Central Illinois. This town had been rum-cursed for 
years, and the main question to be voted on at the pencl- 
ing election was "license" or "no license." 

The red liquor men had been busy for weeks organiz- 
ing their forces for the coming contest, and when the 
temperance people became aware of the fact, they came 
to the conclusion that the only way to counteract the 
baleful influence would be to send for a speaker and get 
up a temperance boom. When I arrived at the town I 
found the temperance people looking very crestfallen, in- 
deed; or, as I heard one of the sap-suckers remark: 
"They're considerably down in the mouth." And, to tell 
the truth, they had good reason, for the town had been thor- 
oughly canvassed, and the whiskyites were found to be 



90 WARP AND WOOF. 

largely in the majority, and nothing short of a grand old 
temperance boom could save them from an ignominous 
defeat. We opened out with our meetings, but they didn't 
boom worth a cent, and we soon learned, to our sorrow, 
that those "tender-hearted" knights of the jug and bottle 
had been getting in their lawful occupation to their 
heart's content. I had talked two nights, making, as I 
thought, two of the ablest efforts and appeals of my life. 
It wouldn't do; they sat there like so many stumps, and 
even refused to rise up when we called for signers. Poli- 
tics was at a fever heat, and the license men wanted 
whisky or nothing, and there was no use disguising the 
fact. I firmly believed that I would leave the town com- 
pletely vanquished. It was on the third and last night 
that I had engaged to stay, and things were looking ter- 
rible blue for the temperance people. I had made my 
speech, called for signers, with the same result as before, 
and the choir had risen to sing the "Doxology," previous 
to dismissing the audience, when a young woman, about 
eighteen years of age, came marching down the aisle of 
the church, up to the stand, and asked the privilege of 
speaking for a few moments. Her face was deathly pale, 
and her eyes shown with the brilliancy of an evening star. 
The choir stood waiting for a moment, and I said to the 
young woman that it was getting quite late, and the au- 
dience were anxious to go home. She paid no attention, 
but stepped upon the stand, her eyes sparkling like dia- 
monds in the night. She waved her hand, and when the 
choir was seated again she said: "I can not leave this 
house until father signs the pledge. Oh, father! father!! 
come sign the pledge to-night. Don't you remember our 
once happy home, when mother and all the children were 
living — when you was the wealthiest man in town. Oh! 



WARP AND WOOF. 91 

father! don't you remember when Benny took sick and 
you went for the doctor, and got on a spree and staid 
away for three days, and when you came home in the 
night and found Benny dead; how you slipped in the 
room where he lay and clipped a matted curl of hair from 
his beautiful brow, that was yet damp with the dews of 
eternity. Father, sign the pledge to-night, or to-mor- 
row's sun will find your heart-broken child on the road 
to mother's grave, in the cemetery. They are all dead 
but you and your heart-broken little girl. Rum done it 
all! The saloon-keeper lives in our pleasant home on the 
hill! I can hear mother pleading for you to-night — can't 
you feel her presence? Oh, do come and sign the pledge 
or I can never leave this church?" While she was yet 
talking in this wild impassioned strain a stout-looking 
man, with a red, blistered face and bleared, fishy eyes, 
came running down the aisle and caught the young girl 
in his arms, lifted her off the platform, and stood hold- 
ing her to his breast, while the heart-breaking sobs that 
were bursting from that man's lips would have touched a 
heart of adamant. The audience rose up as one man, all 
eyes glistening with the precious drops that makes the 
world akin, while the choir, with tears streaming down 
their cheeks, as if by instinct struck up that sweet, never- 
to-be forgotten, soul-inspiring song: 

"All hail to the power of Jesus' name, 
Let angels prostrate fall." 

Strong-armed men and true-hearted women gathered 
around them and dried the trembling dew drops that had 
been shaken from the creeping vine, and supported the old, 
weather-beaten trunk of debased manhood; while, with a 
bloated hand that had lost its cunning, he tried to scrib- 
ble his once proud name to the pledge that reads: "I 



92 WARP AND WOOF. 

promise to abstain, God helping me, from all intoxicat- 
ing liquors as a beverage." This was only the beginning 
of the end. Every one in the entire audience, with two 
saloon keepers who were present, signed the pledge that 
night. I have worked in the temperance cause faithfully 
for live long years; have seen thousands sign the pledge, 
and start anew on the eternal road, but have never seen 
any thing to compare with that one night in Illinois, be- 
fore the election. It is useless to add that license came 
out at the little end of the horn. It was no fault of 
mine. I shall remember it as long as I live, and have 
christened it "The night she carried the day." 



When the Threshing Machine Comes. 



Always after harvest there used to be a strife among 
the farmers, to see who would get done threshing first; 
and alter we had got the promise of the machine, and the 
day set, the preparations that were going on in the house 
and at the barn, indicated that it was an event of more 
than ordinary interest in the monotonous hum-drum of 
life on the farm. Some animal was usually butchered, 
besides the many chickens that were offered up to the 
shrine of the threshing machine moloch. The old ma- 
chine would be sighted from the main-top of the barn- 
yard gate-post, coming down the lane, with the horse- 
power ahead, swinging under an old wagon. Then all 
was hurry to get the power set— staked down — and the 
horses on, while the threshers mended the belting. Then 



WARP AND WOOF. 93 

to start was the exciting moment, enjoyed by all the 
boys, for all the girls were sure to be on hand to help 
cook, and were sure to come out and see the machine 
start up. The two boys who got to drive and cut bands 
were the lions of the occasion. The last time they came 
"Bill Jones" was driver, and we cut bands, and it was so 
exasperating to see him cracking his whip and hallowing 
at the horses, just as if they wouldn't go round without 
making all that noise to attract the attention of the girls. 
We knew very well that was what he was doing it for; 
but we knew Jane Wells would not look at him, and if 
she did, it wouldn't be at him, for she hated him, and we 
heard her say so at Cline's apple-cutting, not a week pre- 
vious, and we never could see how any body could like 
him, with that freckled face, that was always distorted 
with a grin. Who knew the only reason Jane talked to 
him at all was to make fun of him, and when we asked 
her about it, she acknowledged it. 

•& ■¥: -K- vc- ■«■ -X- ¥r -5fr -K- -vt- 

The grain was threshed. Twenty years have flown, 
and the world has threshed us! Bill and Jane live on 
the old home place and watch their children thresh, while 
young Bill drives the machine. The old farm looks as 
joyful as ever, and the world don't seem a day older. 
Still we are waiting; yes, waiting, for the threshers again, 
to be threshed from life unto death, and whirled round 
the cylinder of time, to an unknown eternity. Bill and 
Jane still live, and are eagerly looking for the threshing 
machine, for 'tis Autumn, and the " sere and yellow" 
leaves are dropping to mother earth. 



94 WAEP AND WOOF. 

LIFE'S UNCERTAINTIES. 

"Look on This Picture and Then Upon That," 



Reader, this story is a true one except as to names, and 
dating back ten years. One evening we saw an announce- 
ment in the Courier, of Mr. James Van Dyke leading to 
the altar one of LaFayette's fairest belles, Missj Carrie 
Jones, the highly-accomplished daughter of John Jones, 
Esq., a retired merchant. The bride was richly attired 
in white satin, and she wore diamond jewelry; her dress 
and vail were imported. The marriage ceremony was 
performed by Right Rev. Robert Chester, D. I)., of St. 
Matthew's Church, formerly Professor of Theology at 
Oxford. Miss Maggie Miles officiated at the organ, as- 
sisted by Professor Snoddy. It required several hours' 
practice each evening for a week previous to make them 
perfect in the step. The bride's sister, the beautiful Ag- 
gie, was first bridesmaid — there were six in all. It w r as 
the event of the season, and old St. Matthew was packed 
from pit to dome with the elite and fashion, who came to 
gaze upon the happy pair, and wish them hon voyage. 
Our space will permit naming only a few of the pres- 
ents: 

John Jones, the bride's father, $10,000 in bonds. 

Antifugin Society, wine goblets of silver, gold-lined, 
$500. 

Mrs. Jones, bride's mother, silver tea-set, gold-lined, 
$500. 

Johnny Small, gold-headed cane, $50. 

Griis. Livingston, fancy monnted case bottle with gob- 
let, $50. 



WARP AND WOOF. 95 

There were many other costly presents, too numerous 
to mention. The happy pair took the 2 o'clock lightning 
express for Niagara Falls, a special bridal coach having 
been secured on the train for the occasion. The Courier, 
speaking of them, said: "They proceeded from the Falls 
to New York, whence they embarked for London, touching 
at Cork. On their tour they take in Paris, Venice, and 
return by the way ot Lake Como, where they propose to 
spend a few months, resting during the 'heated term.' 
As the season will be pretty well advanced by this time, 
they may conclude to return before the bad weather and 
squalls set in. On their return they will occupy the Es- 
quire's new gothic building on Columbia street. They 
propose bringing their cook and chambermaid from Paris. 
Cards will be issued on their return to their most inti- 
mate friends." In due time they returned, occupied 
their line house on Columbia street, and their lives 
seemed a gay round of pleasure. But, alas! John Jones 
speculated in Chicago, and failed! Every thing was 
swept away. 

In ten years from the date of his daughter's marriage 
John Jones died by his own hand, and was buried in a 
pauper's grave; and in a few months after his death a 
funeral procession was seen going in the direction of 
Greenbush, bearing the remains ot his once accomplished 
daughter, who died childless, with no one to shed affec- 
tion's tears above her grave; no dear children to weep and 
carry the remembrance of that last sad scene, their moth- 
er's death, in years to come. Before the hired liveries 
were half \vav home the husband felt relieved — none to 
care for but himself; no noisy children to look after; no 
little boy or girl to plead with him to shun the haunts 



96 WARP AND WOOF. 

of vice and immorality. He is free! May God spare us 
from such freedom, for it is madness. 

■X -X- -X- -X' 'X- -x -X -X -x -x 

On the same evening, in a retired part of the city, on 
Union street, a young lady was engaged in making her 
toilet, in a neat, sparsely-furnished room, the floor cov- 
ered with a rag carpet of her own make. She was at- 
tired in a nice fitting calico dress, and her throat was en- 
circled with a plain white collar. She was arranging her 
long, black hair, standing in front of a glass on the bu- 
reau, when she heard a well-known footfall on the door- 
step. She opened the door, and exclaimed, "Oh, George !" 
He grasped her hand and pressed it to his lips, then 
turned and introduced his companion, who proved to be 
the aged minister of the "little church around the cor- 
ner." In a few minutes the father and mother, with sev- 
eral of the neighbors, entered the room, when they all 
knelt in prayer. The minister prayed that the choicest 
blessings of Heaven might descend on them and rest 
with them in their journey through life. When they 
arose the two joined hands, when the minister pronounced 
an appropriate marriage ceremony that made them man 
and wife. The beautiful, sublime, and holy love that 
beamed from the bride's eyes can be felt but once in a 
lifetime. No grand point lace trousseau and diamond 
jewelry, to be discussed over oysters and "Tom and Jer- 
ry," in saloons and club-houses. In the morning he went 
to work as usual, to hammer out a home with his strong 
right arm, but not before she had wouud her arms lov- 
ingly around his neck and gave him a wifely kiss on lips 
that knew no club-house smell. He went to work with 
a new life, happy in the love of a pure woman. Banks 
may break and untold thousands be swept away, but 



WARP AND WOOF. 97 

what cared they so long as George's strong right arm re- 
tained its cunning. 

Ten years! And so short a time to those who love. 
They now have five children, and such children. The 
youngest is a boy, and his name is George. He is a 
"trump." She says if George "does not take that boy 
in hand, she will." And when George comes in he does 
take him in hand, sets him on his knee, and gallops him 
up and down, and sings, "here we go to Bombey-be cross." 
Then the old girl comes up to settle them, and throws her 
arms around George's neck and kisses him — Then de- 
clares the boy is a chip out of the old block. 

George, by his mechanical skill and untiring indus- 
try, has such a hold on the confidence of our fellow-citi- 
zens that he is now one of our leading master-mechanics, 
and owns and occupies a commodious and well-furnished 
residence. 




98 WARP AND WOOF. 

Got Drunk and Committed the Deed. 



We had stopped over night at the Grand Hotel, the 
guest of Luther Benson. So, after breakfast, Luther 
marched up to the Clerk's office, got a tooth-pick and 
says to us, "well, where now?" "To the jail," I replied. 
His eyes twinkled in an instant. "Do yon know," said 
he, "that is my softest spot? and it is in accordance with 
my miserable life to visit jails, Mayors' Courts, alms 
houses and penitentiaries?" As lie finished speaking, we 
looked into his face with surprise and saw that he was in 
dead earnest, and Luther Benson never had our sympa- 
thy as he had that morning, while standing on the steps 
of the hotel before starting for the jail. We passed 
through the Court-house while on the way to the jail, 
and when opposite the Mayor's court-room, Luther 
opened the door and looked in; then turning to me he 
said: "There are just six in there booked for the quay" 
We went to the jail, and he grasped the hand of the 
turn-key, as a time-honored friend. They proved to be 
old acquaintances. Poor, poor, Benson! How often 
cast down by those who should try to hold you up. How 
often seeking sympathy, even from those who dare not 
teel sympathy, and thy wild morbid fancies of Eternity, 
were first likened by the non-consuming, eternal fires of 
cursed rum, that first touched thy heart strings, which, 
like QElean harps, needed but a breath to make them 
wail? Bathe till the pulsations of thy generous heart 
are stilled in the voiceless grave. Bathe in the blood of 
the Lamb. Luther! Luther! When the virtuous world 
has turned from thee, you can rely upon one sympathiz- 
ing heart, and "pity is akin to love." 



warp and woof. ♦ 99 

We Had Started to See G-uetig, 
And expressed our desire to the man of bolts and 
keys. He did not seem inclined to grant our request. 
We then told him the solid truth, that we represented 
the best temperance paper in the State of Indiana. His 
face grew hard, and he seemed less inclined than ever, 
and he remarked that Louis was "burnt" from seeing 
paper men. Benson was toying with a set of new jew- 
elry that hung in a bolt ring of an old safe in the office. 
We had turned to pass out, when we happened to think 
of a little Talisman — one that had blanched the face of 
Napoleon, in the presence of his old guard at Waterloo, 
and has turned thousands of keys in locks that had grown 
rusty. We went for it, and held out to the astonished 
gaze of the man of bolts, not a signet ring of the king, 
but just 105 grains of John Sherman's resumption. His 
face mellowed, and he told us to go out and get some 
cigars, which we did on short notice, and then Louis was 
called up to the checkered front. 

We handed him the cigars, and must confess that we 
were never more surprised in our life. We had called to 
see a low-browed villain, a hardened criminal — the mur- 
derer of a defenseless girl. But one of the best looking 
young men we ever saw, was standing before us, black 
eyes and hair, fair complexioned, neatly framed as a 
beautiful woman, in his shirt sleeves, with his collar un- 
buttoned, displaying a neck as fair as the Apollo Belvi- 
dere, beautiful as a girl in the first blush of womanhood, 
only nineteen years old the 28th day of May. This was 
Louis Guetig, the murderer of Mary McGlew. Just as 
we were going to ask him a question, a woman came in, 
and asked if there was a man in named Pat. The man 
of bolts turned' to the slate and said yes, $15.60. Pat 



100 WARP AND WOOF. 

had come up to the door and when he had looked out and 
saw who it was, he muttered an exclamation: "Oh, 
hone! By cripes, if it isn't yer own swate face I'm look- 
in' at." Mary couldn't stand such grief as that. Pat 
was out in less than two minutes, smoking a good cigar. 
Mary's tears were dried, and arm in arm they passed out 
into the busy world, while Guetig stood looking after them 
with wistful and watery eyes. We said to him : 
"Young man, we feel sorry for you, but there is no 
hope." He raised his hat, scratched his head, drew a 
long breath, and sighed: "JN r o; I will have to follow the 
rest, unless the Supreme Court saves me. Have you 
seen the gallows yet?" he asked abruptly. "No." 
"Well, go around the jail and look at it. It has never 
been taken down since the others were hung." We al- 
most shuddered as we looked at that fair, white neck. 
We told him that we had been young and had been sub- 
ject to terrible temptations, but something unusual must 
have possessed him to commit the rash act. He said, 
"yes, and that's just what those twelve old jurymen 
don't understand, or stop to think that they were young 
once, and impetuous. I guess I'll have to go." 

Louis Guetig, if he is a hardened criminal, as has been 
represented by the press, stood before us with a watery 
film over his eyes, his throat swelling, gazing straight at 
a white stone wall, he never saw. He reached two 
white tapering fingers through the grated door for us to 
shake, telling us to be sure and look at the gallows, be- 
fore leaving, and expressed a desire for us to come and 
see him once more in the near future, then passed round 
the corridor from view. 

The last words young Guetig said to us: "I got 
drunk and committed the deed." Great is law. 



WARP AND WOOF. 101 

"How He Gave up His Beer/' 

Is the heading of a temperance tract. We saw one of 
our city officials giving up his beer one fine morning a 
short time ago, while he was leaning over and looking 
down into a hog-pen in the back yard. He gave it up 
spasmodically — by fits and starts. He didn't like to part 
with it — rammed his finger down his throat to keep it 
back — she would come, all the same. He stood looking 
after it with tears in his eyes — lost a whole halt dollar's 
worth. It's a great waste to pay for beer and then spew it 
out against the wall. Now, if some poor struggling genius 
who is burning the "midnight oil" over the dreams of 
sages, wants to immortalize himself, just let him- invent 
some kind of an apparatus — double-struck in the filn — 
that will make LaFayette beer lay still. "There's mil- 
lions in it." Benefactor to the race — foreign and domes- 
tic — thousands wasted by slopping over. 



THE BALLOT BOX. 



U A weapon that comes down as still 
As snow flakes fall upon the sod; 

But executes a freeman's will, 
As lightning does the will of God; 

Nor from its force, nor doors, nor locks 
Can shield you;— 'tis the Ballot Box. 



102 WARP AND WOOF. 

SALOON SIGNS. 



Saloon signs usually have a big, pot-gutted, liver-faced 
old sockdolager, with flowing locks, sitting straddle of a 
whisky barrel, holding up an overflowing mug of " ? alf- 
and-'alf." To make the thing complete and better un- 
derstood by patrons, we would suggest that one side of 
the sign represent a woman — the goddess of the rum 
traffic, in rags, bending over a foaming wash-tub of dirty 
clothes, festering in their own grease, with some half a 
dozen half-clothed, bare-footed, pinched-faced, starving 
children sitting around crying for bread, with a wild- 
eyed maniac slipping up with a drawn dagger, to sacri- 
fice and murder the bread-winning goddess of red liquor. 
A hearse with two wheels, drawn by a broken-legged 
mule and a nigger driver, sitting on a rough box, with a 
half-starved pot-hound limping along between the wheels, 
while the sexton of Potter's Held stands a lonely mourner 
over his spade, by the side of a new-made grave. If the 
board w 7 as large enough he might paint a bird in one corner 
— the American eagle trying to fly with a barrel of old 
sour mash, with a school of snakes making for the over- 
burdened, proud bird, which is bit beneath the wing 
and dies. Such a sign would certainly be instructive, 
and true to life on the one side, if not quite so attractive 
as the other. 



WARP AND WOOF. 103 

OUR SENTIMENTS. 



Just so long as we are live; just so long as we are 
bald-headed; just so long as we can make a mark on 
white paper; just so long as there is a wife-whipper alive, 
a drunkard's child to be abused, or a lonely wife looking 
out into the tearless midnight of the soul; just that long 
we will write, "Damn the liquor traffic" You may 
even call this fanaticism, and put us in jail. But we do 
crave one boon from our children when we are dead: 
Chisel "Damn the traffic" on the roughest "nigger-head" 
that ever mocked proportion's law, and set it above our 
earthly remains, that our socketless eyes may be turned 
toward the inscription on the morning of the resurrec- 
tion. Oh, the lonely longings of a rum-scorched life. 
Creation's dawn, without a living soul, would be a school- 
boy's play-ground in comparison. 



CONSTITUTIONAL !! 



Our method in dealing with intemperance, debauchery 
and immorality, is to call things by their proper names, 
and locate the evils where they properly belong. Our 
cause is the cause of God and humanity, and we will 
ever be found on that side, trying to lift up the fallen. 
We are no respecter of (persons), creeds, sect or party, 
but stand upon the broad platform of humanity, which 
hails every man as a brother, and makes the world akin. 
Crime, debauchery and intemperance, thrive in the 



104 WARP AND WOOF. 

"Star City," under the shadow of church spires, that 
point up into the clouds. 

This Government, instituted by the people and for the 
people, helping to prostitute its own subjects to gain rev- 
enue, is another sweet-scented commentary on the old 
hackneyed phrase of being the most "Glorious Nation 
on Earth." 

The preamble to the Constitution of these United 
States, reads after this fashion : 

"We, the people of the United States, in order to form 
a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic 
tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote 
the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty 
to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish 
this Constitution of the United States " . 

We want to ask our "sap-suckers" and politicians, 
"what kind of a union does the liquor traffic form?" 
What kind of "Justice does it establish?" What kind 
of hellish "domestic tranquility does it insure?" What 
kind of "general welfare does it promote?" What kind 
of "blessing does it secure?" In what kind of shape 
does it leave our posterity? Please don't answer all these 
questions at once. 

There is just two horns to this dilemma, either of 
which might be grasped by an idiot. The preamble to 
our glorious Constitution is a self-evident lie; or else the 
liquor traffic is a Still-born Monstrocity, dragged from 
the regions of "Pluto," and laid on the door step of this 
Nation, fatherless and motherless, without water enough 
in the wide, wide world, to wash its dirty black face. 
"You pays your money and you takes your choice." 



WARP AND WOOF. 105 

NATIONAL DEBT SHRINKERS. 



All for the Good of the Country— -Happy People, 



The grand army of National Debt Shrinkers who 
have fought for the last fifteen years to pay the debt of 
the Nation by drinking the essence of rotten corn, 
steeped in poisonous drugs, have endured more hardships, 
more cold, more hunger, more privations, more rags and 
vermin, a thousand fold, than did the army of Grant in 
the four years the debt was incurred. What were the 
sieges of Atlanta and Petersburg to the gauntlet of 
saloons the Debt Shrinker has to run each day of his 
weary life on the Market-space of the Star City? What 
was the life-inspiring "harcl-tack" and "sow-belly" of the 
soldier, to the ceaseless, never-ending craving lor "sod- 
corn" by the debt shrinker? What was the weary march 
of the soldier in an enemy's country, protected by Gatlin 
guns and Springfield rifles to the hatless head of the debt 
shrinker exposed to the policeman's "billy?" What 
were the starved prisoners of Andersonville and Belle 
Isle in comparison to six bowls of "sour mash" cooled 
with red liquor, Mayor's Court ($8.60), Hotel *de Pala- 
tial, and visions of the stone-pile in the dim distance, to 
the crazed brain of the debt shrinker? What were the 
pleasant dreams of a far-away home to the soldier, to the 
waking thoughts of the debt shrinker, as he stands a 
trembling sinner on a voiceless brink, where he must 
tumble off and fall forever? 

Falstaff's regiment, with but a shirt and a half to the 
company, that the old blistered libertine refused to march 
through town with, would be happy children to-day in 
comparison to our army of debt shrinkers. 



106 WARP AND WOOF. 

No back pay, bounties, or soldiers' homes for the debt 
shrinker. He enlisted for life, — goes through the world 
in rags; is often beaten to death by his drill sergeant, but 
true to the last gasp, and the last swallow in the cause 
he has espoused, it goes towards paying* the National 
Debt. 

England has had her Nelson and Wellington, and 
France can boast of a Napoleon; but we will point the 
world to a poor, trembling, ragged debt shrinker of the 
United States. * 

While he is standing, with his "last glass," on the verge 
of hell, he drinks it down, and shrinks two cents more of 
the National debt. Oh, pyramids, catacombs, mum- 
mies, obelisk! You are all mile-stones in the cycles of 
milldewed years of the voiceless past. Tumble to the 
dark waters of lethean memory in mortal man. Date 
from this time, 1880. This is the world — the United 
States — home of the National Debt Shrinker. 




WARP AND WOOF. 1()7 

The Drummer from New York. 

We have not rode on a train for the last six months on 
any of the roads leading into the city, but what the 
"Drummer from New York." took the vote of the train, 
just after leaving the first station. Some of the political 
papers got hold of the facts, and just as we were about 
to get a sure thing on a bet, they gave the thing dead 
away. Dame Fortune is always giving us the go by in 
some way or other. The last time we rode on a Wabash 
train the "Drummer from New York," got on at Peru, 
with his silver-mounted grip-sack, and before the train 
got fairly under way, she was voted. We were then told 
positively how New York would go, and made a mental 
note of it, for our future, personal benefit, but the very 
next day we read all about it in the "Courier." Some 
pusillanimous pencil pusher was either traveling in. cog. 
and overheard the conversation, which was purely confi- 
dential, or else the drummer took too many buds or got 
to dreaming of the "vale where the Mohawk gently 
glides," and talked in his sleep. The very same thing 
happened on the Lake Erie & Western. The "Drummer 
from New York" got aboard at Frankfort, and was only 
about ten minutes in voting the train. He talked very 
low — almost in a whisper, when he informed us about 
New York, but we hope to never see the back ot our 
head if the whole thing wasn't in the "Journal" next 
morning. There is such a thing as honor, even among 
thieves, and it is not just the thing to give away the 
knight of the silver-cornered grip-sack, every time. 
Some people might call it smart, but it's nothing more 
or less than a breach of faith. 



108 WARP AND WOOF. 

We have also read the opinion several times of a very 
"wealthy, highly-intelligent gentleman, from New 
York," who lives at Syracuse or Rochester, we can't dis- 
tinctly remember which, at present, but it's enough to 
say that his confidence has been outrageously betrayed 
also. It's enough to bring a blush of shame to every 
man of the newspaper fraternity in Indiana. If this 
thing continues the next thing in order for the "press" 
of the "Star City," will be a pious pilgrimage to the 
sanctum of W. F. Story, of Chicago. 



BURTON'S PLEDGE. 



Touch Not, Taste Not, Handle Not.—Gospe/ Temper 

a nee Army, 



With Malice towards the accursed Liquor Traffic, 
and Charity for the WIDOWS and ORPHAN'S it has 
made, I, the undersigned, do pledge my WORD and 
Honor, with DIVINE assistance, to work for the sup- 
pression of the TRAFFIC. I further promise that I 
will not support any man for office, who is a frequenter 
of DRINKING SALOONS, or who in any way or 
manner encourages drinking to secure votes. I further- 
more promise to abstain from all intoxicating liquors as 

a beverage, tor the period of , and that I will use 

my influence to induce others to abstain. 

(Signed) Harry Burton. 



WARP AND WOOF. 109 

u OUR FLAT IRON." 



Mrs. Burton was the lucky or unlucky possessor of a 
large "flat iron." Now, how I happened to purchase 
that particularly large flat iron, time will never be long 
enough to tell. Mrs. B. said she needed another iron. 
Like most young married folks, we had a couple of flat 
irons bequeathed us, when we first went to housekeeping. 
But, one day when about to start down town, she re- 
quested me to bring home another iron. Now, I had 
been married long enough to know that 'twas best to pay 
very particular attention to any little request she might 
happen to make, and "no questions asked." So I pur- 
chased the largest flat iron Bennewitz had in his store. 
I've often thought since I've seen the demand for that 
iron, that the "ore" will never be taken from its "na- 
tive hearth" to make another such. I've heard the mer- 
its of that flat iron discussed by the gray-haired and mid- 
dle-aged, and the blooming Miss in her teens, until I've 
often imagined the cerebellum of my brain was being 
smoothed out with that iron, red hot, with Mrs. B. 
throwing her whole weight on it, as she often did, after 
taking it off the stove and tasting it, by wetting the end 
of her first finger, and then touching it to the iron. 
Mrs. B's name is "Kate." When she began lending 
that iron it was "Catherine." In a short time it toned 
down to u Katy," and I think it would have ended in 
"Kitty," but for a little mishap of mine. I'm a poor 
creature of circumstances, and never could learn any 
thing from books. But, bitter experience, seasoned with 
the "briny," was always my "forte" for learning. One 
cold day Mrs. Grimes brought that iron home, not red, 



110 WARP AND WOOF. 

but black hot. Mrs. Hughes had just left, after getting 
the promise of it for the afternoon, giving Katy an invi- 
tation to come over some time and bring her work along. 
Mrs. B. being busily engaged at work, Mrs. Grimes set 
the iron under the stove, and skipped out. 1 came in 
from work a short time after, witli a frozen toe, and the 
tirst hard work I done was to "hoss" off my boot and 
put my foot under the stove square against that iron. 
My foot was so numb and cold that it began to sizzle and 
fry, before I found out the difference. But when I did 
find it out I withdrew my foot from under the stove, and 
found the impression of a good sized flat iron on my 
foot. I happened to have an old "spike maul" behind 
the stove, which I picked up, and knocked the iron into 
the middle of the room, w T here it set, and burnt a hole 
through the carpet. Mrs. B. heard it from the kitchen, 
and rushed in to see what the ruction was all about. 
When she saw her big "flat iron'i in the middle of the 
room minus the handle, to say she was mad, would be 
drawing it very mild. In my young days I used to try 
to dance, but could never make the "double shuffle." I 
came nearer doing it that morning than I ever did be- 
fore. I effected a compromise with Mrs. B., by telling 
her there was a twin to that iron, which had never been 
sold. But to see those women when they came for the 
iron by turns, and didn't get it. They thought it was all 
a "put up job," and some of them even made mouths as 
the} 7 went out the gate. To tell the truth I w T as sorry, 
for that iron had introduced us in society. We made 
the acquaintance of a great many people which we 
should never have known 



WARP AND WOOF. Ill 

A Retrospective Picture. 

Thirty years ago — how well do we remember. We 
were in the old log school-house, at the cross-roads. 
The master was locked out, and the big boys were capit- 
ulating with him through the key hole. One of the 
big boys had drawn up an article of agreement, for the 
master to sign, stipulating the kind, quality and propor- 
tions, of the "treat" The little boys and girls, fright- 
ened half to death, were seated on two long benches, 
made of "slabs," the belly side down, while the legs 
were made of tough hickory grubs, with the bark left on 
and put in the benches through two-inch auger holes. 
Poor, little girls! This was their first, great sorrow, in 
life. The little flax and check aprons covered their 
little bashful faces, and dried the shower of tears. Their 
little feet, entombed in cow-hide shoes, dangled beneath 
the rough benches, scarcely touching the rough puncheon 
floor. ' "The master" signed the article, which proved 
satisfactory, and the door was unbarred. aSo danger of 
repudiation. Two of the largest boys started for some 
farmer's house, for the apples, while two more went to 
town for the candy, and such candy! the sweetest ever 
dissolved between mortal lips. The apples were seed- 
lings, and, if tackled to-day, would bring a tear to a dead 
man's eye. In those days the "Molars" were as good 
and sound, as any ever imported from a foreign jungle; 
and cracking "shell-bark" hickory nuts, was a common 
amusement. 

In the afternoon came the "choosing-up" spelling, and 
speaking pieces. We usually commenced to spell at 
"Baker", and jogged along pretty well till we came to 



112 WAKP AND WOOF. 

"Either" when the light weights settled down, and the 
"Hevies" keeping on to u Are plural of am." Then 
came a general collapse. Speaking was next in order, 
and how often have we puzzled our massive brains over 
the "Little Maid's Reply." How joyous and kind the 
old master seemed that day. His sober-looking face was 
wreathed in smiles. How soft and tender the touch of 
his old horny hand, when bidding each little one u good- 
bye" till to-morrow, with a pat on the head. Oh, could 
w T e but recall one of the many days in a misspent thirty 
years! That "New Year's Daj^," with all its surround- 
ings, would be the only one worth a thought. Could we 
invoke the spirits of the departed dead, we would call up 
the old master and scholars of the cross-roads' school- 
house, and with them celebrate, in a befitting manner 
and melting mood, with joyous hearts of "ye olden 
time," the morning of the second century. None living 
need apply. 

"This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas— 
The Past, the Future— two Eternities." 




WARP AND WOOF. 113 

" Once More Unto the Breach, Dear 
Friends." 



As temperance men, let us give women the right to 
vote, and we are free from the curse of intemperance. 
Women who work and support families, and drunken, 
shiftless husbands, wipe away the scalding tears and have 
to endure the soul-slavery of license laws in which they 
have no voice. Give the noble women the right to vote, 
and licensed crime is at an end forever, and forever; 
amen. Give the women the ballot, and gravitation will 
start the other way, and every grog shop in the land will 
go up where Milton's Satan wandered into illimitable 
space quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. Think 
of it. The mothers of men who vote are refused the 
ballot!! 

Let us be just for once in our lives. Let us pray for 
temperance and then vote it, and that will add a kind of 
easiness to the next good resolve, and then in a short time, 
or in the "Sweet bye and bye," we will be able to cope 
with the devil, and send him back where it's hot. May 
God speed the hour when every woman in this land of 
perennial flowers and eternal snows, from Maine to the 
Gulf, can rise up and vote her sentiments, and help drive 
out this horde of blood-suckers, who are cursing this fair 
land that was dedicated to God among the whispering 
pines, and breakers of old ocean. 

It will be recollected by a great many of our oldest in- 
habitants, that in the old anti-slavery days about two 
thirds of the ministers had to be dragged into the har- 
ness against their very earnest protestations; for "slavery 
was a divine institution, sanctioned by God himself. 
Now, all the divinity there was in human slavery consist- 



?3 



114 WARP AND WOOF. 

ed in the fact that the institution furnished good "back- 
logs" in the Winter, and refreshing "shade" in the Sum- 
mer. 

Englishmen, Dutchmen, Irishmen, Negroes, French- 
men, saloon-keepers, thieves, horse-jockeys, male prosti- 
tutes, pot-house politicians, inebriates, ignoramuses, beg- 
gars, rag-pickers, scavengers, and, in fact, every tramp, 
thief, beggar and criminal that is dumped on our shores 
from every country this side of the warm place, can try 
his hand at law-making. The only persons who are dis- 
franchised in enlightened, Christian America is "Lo, the 
poor Indian" and Woman! 

Every lager beer tub and whisky-guzzler in the land 
can vote and hold office, while the wives and mothers sit 
at home and rock the cradle. 

Bye O baby bunten, 
Papa's gone a huntin' 
The nearest saloon. 



"Nobody loves me, for Pa's a Drunkard." 

Several years ago we went up to Chicago to attend the 
Exposition. We arrived late in the evening, and on the 
following morning concluded to take a stroll along the 
lake front, and around the mouth of the river anions the 
shipping. We had got about the middle of State street 
bridge, when, looking oat towards the "crib," we discov- 
ered quite a crowd of persons congregated on one of the 
docks, between the bridge and lake. .Now, anybody who 
knows any thing about Chicago, is aware that a crowd 
of people is liable to be found anywhere in that modern, 



WARP AND WOOF. 115 

delectable "Sodom; 55 but what drew our attention to this 
particular gathering, was the preponderance of blue coats 
and brass buttons. Our curiosity becoming more and 
more excited as their numbers kept increasing, we left 
the bridge, and, after a circuitous route of a couple of 
squares, we came on the dock, and into the crowd, that 
still kept increasing. Just as we had stepped on to the 
dock we heard the following remarks from a big, burly 
policeman, which showed conclusively that he was a na- 
tive of the Green Isle of Erin\ "Faith, an 5 I belaves I 
know the kid, an 5 the ould divil 5 s been drunk since the 
panic; an 5 if that swate flower isn't the corpse of little 
Jimmy DeBar, me own name's not Tim Dolan; moind 
that now. The ould mon was as rich as Julius Casar, 
before the panic, an 5 used to own ships on the say, out 
there. May the divil fly away wid the whisky. 55 

After big Tim Dolan had ceased talking for a moment, 
we elbowed our way to the center of the group, and there, 
upon a ragged piece of sail canvass, we discovered the 
body of a little drowned boy, which had just been lished 
out of the river. He seemed to be one of those little- 
old children that we so often see in large cities, who are 
constantly peering into show-windows at luscious fruits 
and beautiful flowers, displayed, we often think, to taunt 
the hollow-eyed children of poverty. His raven black 
hair was matted close to an unusually high forehead, 
while his little chubby, bloated hands were laid across 
his heart, that had ceased to beat forever. 

Presently a dead-cart came up, and the body was taken 
up tenderly by those strong-armed policemen, laid in the 
bottom of the conveyance, and covered with the canvass^ 
while the driver was ordered to take him to the "morgue. 55 
We had witnessed death in almost every form, but our 



116 WARP AND WOOF. 

sympathy was never aroused as upon that morning, while 
gazing on that dead child, with no heart-broken mother 
present to almost snatch him back to life. He was a wa- 
ter-soaked chunk of immortality! There are times in 
our lives when we are led, unresistingly by the spirit, or 
some unseen power that we can not comprehend ; for no 
sooner had the cart started than we instinctively followed 
to the morgue. 

When we arrived at the morgue we saw the body taken 
out, and carried into the building; when the parties who 
had discovered and taken up the body from the river, 
gave in their evidence; after which they began to take off 
his clothing to prepare him for burial, and search for 
some clue as to who he was. 

They had taken off his boots and coat, when big "Tim 
Dolan" reached two of his big fingers down into the lit- 
tle pants pockets, and pulled out a dirty looking rag, tied 
up with a shoe-string! He untied the string, unrolled 
the rag, and found a black crust of bread ! 

Tim Dolan, the big hearted son of Erin, from over the 
"say" — the land of famine, where the dying child cried 
for three grains of com — stood beside the little dead 
form, raining tears enough to drown the child if living. 

The street-cars, wagons, carts, hacks, and equipages 
of the rich, rattled and banged over the iron and hard, 
stony streets; but in the morgue, around a little dead 
boy, stood strong-armed men of the world, weeping for 
the first time since childhood. For once their callings 
were forgotten — some body was surely dead, and they 
were children attending the funeral. 'Twas a time for 
solemnity, and no one spoke. After a long time, Tim 
continued his search, and got his two big fingers into the 
boy's littled ragged vest pocket, and pulled out a wet, 



WARP AND WOOF. 117 

scribbled card, half torn in two. He didn't speak, but 
went up to the window and held it in the rays of the 
bright morning sun for a few moments, that was stream- 
ing so lovingly into the building, and then gave it to the 
Coroner, who adjusted his glasses and read: 

"Nobody loves me, because pa's a drunkard/' 

" Jimmy DeBar." 

Tim Dolan could stand it no longer, and blurted out: 
"May the curse o' God light on the bloody dom'd stuff. 
If ivir Tim Dolan puts anither drap to his own swate 
lips, may he nivir go to mass, but doie and be buried 
outside of consecrated ground! It's meself as knows 
where the bloody ould coon lives, an' I'll go and bate the 
life out of the ould sinner, an' fetch him up here to look 
in that swate face that will haunt me foriver!" 

Tim started out, on a half ran, towards the stock-yards, 
and returned in about an hour, with his bronzed, weath- 
er-beaten face looking whiter than it had for years. There 
was a pinched-faced boy with him, and they both came 
into the building, when Tim said: "Pace to his ashes! 
The ould sinner's dead as a herrin', wid a bottle half filled 
wid whisky between his could fingers, lyin' in his din, 
wid his eyes wide open, lookin' straight into me face 
wid those glistenin' eyes. I gave him a wae bit of a kick 
to make sure he wasn't sogerin' — the least bit in the 
woruld! May the divil fly away wid the whisky!" 

The dead cart started out with "Tim," and returned in 
the course of another hour with another corpse — a once 
wealthy man — Mr. James DeBar, the ship-owner, now a 
dead sot in the morgue. The pinch-faced boy testified 
that the old man had been drunk for a week, up to last 
night, when he came home and took little Jimmy out 
walking. The boy had been shut up at home, or in that 



118 WARP AND WOOF. 

den for almost a we6k, and when last seen, they were go- 
ing in the direction of the river — the old man leading 
the boy by the hand. That was the last time they were 
seen alive by any one who knew them, and the old law- 
ful debt shrinking maniac had undoubtedly drowned 
his little starved boy! We went to the Exposition, 
and we saw it — at the Morgue — a dead child, with a 
crust tied in a rag, and a dead father, once wealthy, a 
dead sot, at the Morgue, clasping a bottle of legalized 
debt shrinker! ! ! 

Oh, rum! cursed rum! Pitiless hecatomb of morality! 
The priest that will stand by thy funeral pyre, and pro- 
nounce the mystic right of funeral service over thy 
scorched and damned remains, would have just cause to 
make God jealous, and deserves no less than a cabin pas- 
sage, in a gossamer ship, with beds of flowers, borne up 
by the crystal tears of widows and orphans, and be 
wafted with silken sails throughout the eternal years! 




WARP AND WOOF. 119 

GREAT IS LAW, 

■"/ Dreamed That I Dwelt in Marble Ha//s."~A Delect- 
able Crowd, that Would Double Discount 
Fa/staff's Regiment, 

On last Saturday, April 17, in the year of our Lord, 
1880, at the hour of 10 o'clock, A. M., "Harry Burton," 
of the "LaFayette Temperance Herald," was treading 
the "marble halls" of LaFayette's palatial jail, duly so- 
ber. We had dared to talk about a saloon-keeper's mon- 
keys. About four years ago we were thrown into the 
same jail, for getting intoxicated. In the short time we 
were in the Bastile, we were permitted, thank God, to 
sympathize and speak words of encouragement to the 
poor, deluded victims of cursed rum, who are shut out 
from the beautiful sunlight of Heaven, by the monkey 
establishments of our city. We found one young boy, 
sixteen years of age, who had just been sentenced for 
one year to the cottage by the lake. Another one, about 
the same age, who was in for six months, and another 
one lying in a cell, moaning so piteously over the wierd 
specters engendered by cursed Rum. The poor boys 
said 'twas nothing but rum that brought them all there. 
We took another turn up and down the hall, then hum- 
med a strain of the old song "America." 

My country 'tis of thee, 

Sweet land of Slavery, 
Of thee I sing. 

Johnny, fill up the bowl ! 

Then we thought of the select audience in the court- 
room, where we were sentenced. All those fishy, bleared 
eyes, glaring at us. Those old pepper-box, scabby noses 
and red, blistered faces, that looked like tubsful of liver 
wurst, and perfumed breaths that smelt to Heaven. 



120 WAKP AND WOOF. 

"Beer, beer, good lager beer." When we got out of that 
court-room we were ready to sing the first line of the 
Doxology — Praise God from whom, &c. 

Could we repair to the shades of Monticello, and in- 
voke the departed spirit of Jefferson, and have him stand 
forth and exclaim as of yore about that wall of fire, 
'twould stir the hearts of the sons of America, who are 
bathing in the waters of Lethe. If any candid-thinking 
man, could have seen that audience of scar-faced veteran 
saloon-keepers, who were on hand to see us die. Oh! 'twas 
a beautiful sight, that can only be seen once in a lifetime. 

The little boy John O'Brien, is in for thirty days; he 
found a bottle of whisky and drank it. Thirty days — 
great is her majesty, Law. License men to sell it, then 
send little boys to prison for drinking it. Echo — great 
is Law. We told Johnny he might have got poisoned — 
it might have been strychnine — then a post mortem. 
Oh, hell, he said, 1 could smell it — that's it — then ask 
the poor drunkard why he don't stick to his pledge. 
Why, he can smell it on every street corner — in the air 
— in every alley and by-way that he treads in the "Star 
City." Great is Law — send them up — smile and snicker 
in the court — pass the joke around — it's so good — smile 
again, it's always in order in court when a man is drunk 
— send him to the cooler and let his wife bend over the 
wash tub for the money to pay the Law, while the 
little hungry children sit around with bare limbs won- 
dering how long they will have to wait for the next piece 
of bread. Fine the poor drunkard — then divide the 
money all around among the boys who captured him. So 
much for so much brighten up the Stars and buttons 
again, expect another good haul. Blood money! We'd 
sooner carry the silver of "Judas Iscariot." 



WAKP AND WOOK. 121 

NUGGETS. 



Give the women the ballot, and the country will be 
saved every year without the aid ot a saloon caucus. 



Give the women the right to vote and licensed damna- 
tion is at an end, and whiz will go the fuz of every grog 
shop, higher than Beecher's book. 



THE ONLY WAY. 

The way to quit drinking whisky is to first find out 
whether you want to quit, and there won't be much 
trouble about it. 



It is a violation of the law to sell liquor to a man who 
is in the habit of getting drunk, but it's a singular coin- 
cidence that the man who gets drunk in the city of La- 
Fayette is the one who goes to the* "cooler." How 
"phunny!" Vice versa. 



"Let Whisky Alone, and it will Let You Alone." 

Reiterate this old stereotyped lie to a dozen drunkards' 
wives we know in this city. Tell it to some little starved, 
shoeless street gamins! We sincerely hope that the next 
saloon murderer who makes that assertion, that it will 
choke him to death. 



But if One Falls, What Then? 

It is asserted that two millions of women in the United 
States are compelled to earn their living outside of home- 
And yet there are more than two millions of men who 



122 WARP AND WOOF. 

will talk wisely to those women, scourged by poverty, 
weakness, and dire necessity, about "the true sphere of 
woman!" 



A United Brethren Minister's Sentiments. 

As Hannibal swore upon the altar of his country to be 
Rome's eternal enemy, let us swear upon the altar of our 
hearts to be the eternal enemy of this ruinous, blight- 
ing, withering, damning curse. Let our songs, speeches, 
prayers, and, may I not say, our votes, ever unite until 
it shall be driven for ever from our land, and peace and 
joy reign supreme. There is no middle ground. We 
are either for or against this traffic. We will by our 
words or actions either say "Yes!" or u JN"o!" 

Say yes! and the lava tide of death 
O'er cottage, hall and bower, 
Shall roll its dark, blood-crested wave, 
While madness rules the hour. 

Say no, and the white-winged angel, peace, 
Shall dwell in the drunkard's home, 
And beams of temperance, truth and light 
Dispel the withering gloom. 

Say no, and the mother's heart shall leap, 
The sister's eye be dry, 
The poor inebriate clasp his hands, 
And raise his voice on high. 

By the cherished heart's great wrong, 
By the spirit's deathless woe, 
In the name of God, and the name of man, 
Let every heart say NO! 

J. L. MORRISON. 



WARP AND WOOF. 123 

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS OF ALCOHOL 



Oh, Alcohol! come answer me 
The questions I shall put to thee: 
What is thine age, and what thine aim? 
What is thy trade? What is thy name? 

My age is o'er a thousand years; 
My aim, to fill the earth with tears; 
My trade, to kill and make expense; 
My name it is Intemperance. 

Long have I ruled upon the earth; 
To many crimes I've given birth; 
I'm father of distress and woe, 
And spread misfortune where I go. 

My dwelling place is at the bar, 
My customers from near and far, 
I fill their hearts and drain their purse, 
I turn their blessings into a curse. 

My face is covered with a mask, 
My hiding place is in a cask, 
My business doth engender strife, 
And puts asunder man and wife! 

I live in grog-shops, all around, 
Where Satan dwells, I'm always found, 
I am his agent day and night, 
His service is my chief delight; 

He is my captain and my guide, 
I always stand close by his side; 
More men I've killed, upon my word, 
Than famine, pestilence, or sword! 

With my deceitful, pleading tongue, 
I draw to me both old and young, 
And when I get them in my snare 
I chain them first— a7 id keep them there; 



124 WARP AND WOOF. 

But Temperance men I mostly dread, 
For they are ruining my trade; 
If in their course they further go, 
'Twill prove my final overthrow. 

Thus Alcohol is close to me, 
His character, his destiny. 
Although a liar from his youth, 
For once he's blundered into truth! 

Then, temperance men, be wide awake, 
The foe begins to fear and quake; 
Stand to your post— go hand in hand, 
And drive the monster from the land. 



PICTURES IN A GLASS. 



BY MRS. LUCY M. BLTNN. 



(Copied by permission.) 

Come, boys, draw up to the fire ; isn't this a blustering night? 

Let's have a drink of something warm, just to keep our stomachs right ! 

Tom's liquors and cigars are good, "A No. 1," you'll find, 

And this is the coziest lounging place in the city, to my mind ; 

Tom's sharp ; 7ie»knows what suits us best. Come, lads, be lively there ; 

Bring out your wine ! we'll sing our songs, and bid "Good-bye" to care. 

Hallo ! what's this, I wonder? There's a picture in my cup ! 

Look ! how the shadow shapes itself as I shake the goblet up ! 

I can see an old, brown farm house, with the roof all patched and gray, 

And green moss creeping on the eaves where the swallows chirp and play. 

The curtain sways at the window, and the candle's flickering glow 

Shows a quaint, old-fashioned kitchen, just like one I used to know ! 

I see the clock on the mantle, and the bright tins on the wall, 

The kitten in the corner, playing with string and ball ; 

A sweet-faced, bright-eyed woman, with beautiful brown hair. 

Sits where the light falls softest, in a creaky, old arm chair, 

And a little child with laughing tace, stands chattering at her knee ; 

'Tis the picture of my mother, boys ; and the little one is me. 



WARP AND WOOF. 125 

And here, 'mid all your boisterous din, her voice so soft and clear- 
Like a strain of half-forgotten song, conies stealing to my ear. 
I almost fancy that her hand is laid upon my head 
As it used to be at evening time, beside my trundle bed ; 
Some contrast, boys, between your songs of mad, unholy joy, 
And her low tones when asking God to bless and keep her boy. 

Tis strange what brought her face to me, a fair, unbidden guest ; 

The birds have sung for many years above her place of rest ; 

The homestead is deserted, the swallows flown away ; 

And the moss-grown roof, and the hearth-stone, are crumbled to decay ; 

But out from all the ruin that time and change can bring, 

Her face comes up as fresh to-night, as blossoms in the Spring. 

Tom, take this glass away, please, and bring another here ; 

I hadn't thought of the dear old home for many and many a year ; 

And it some how made me womanish ; some tears fell in the cup, 

And that's the reason, may-be, that I couldn't drink it up ; 

Ah, lads, what would my mother think, if her pure eyes could see 

How faint a likeness there is left, of that baby at her knee? 

Is my brain upset, I wonder? Is there magic in the wine? 

Here's another picture floating on this foaming cup of mine ! 

I can trace its outlines clearly ; 'tis a woman, thin and pale, 

And a reeling man, whose tattered clothes scarce shield him from the gale, 

And babies, crying with hunger that is eating away their life ; 

Good God, lads ! 'tis myself I see ! my babies and my wife ! 

And see ! on the edge of the goblet in letters clear and bright, 

Is something written for me to read while memory holds the light : 

" Don't touch the wine-cup, William ; it leads to want and woe ;" 

" What makes our papa go away? He used to love us so." 

And the air seems tremulous with sighs from hearts that ache and bleed ; 

Boys, isn't there a lesson here that you and I should heed? 

Here, Tom, take back the tempting cup ; its pictures, strange but true, 
Have shown me plainly where I stand, and what I ought to do ; 
With my mother's face before me, Mollie's sighing in my ear, 
And my babies' hungry pleading— do you think I'll linger here? 
No, no, lads ; come, let's say Good night," and may it come to pass, 
That all who look upon the wine, find "Pictures in the Glass." 



126 WARP AND WOO J". 

/ HAVE DRANK MY LAST GLASS. 



No, comrades, I thank you— not any for me; 
My last chain is riven— henceforward I'm free! 
I will go to my home and my children to-night 
With no fumes of liquor their spirits to blight; 
And, with tears in my eyes, I will beg my poor wife 
To forgive me the wreck I haye made of her life. 
I have never refused you before? Let that pass, 

For I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 

Just look at me now, boys, in rags and disgrace, 
With my bleared, haggard eyes, and my red, bloated face; 
Mark my faltering step, and my weak, palsied hand, 
And mark on my brow that is worse than Cain's brand; 
See my crownless old hat, and my elbows and knees, 
Alike, warmed by the sun, or chilled by the breeze; 
Why, even the children will hoot as I pass;— 

But I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 

You would hardly believe, boys, to look at me now, 
That a mother's soft hand was pressed on my brow- 
When she kissed me, and blessed me, her darling, her pride- 
Ere she laid down to rest by my dead father's side; 
But, with love in her eyes, she looked up to the sky, 
Bidding me meet her there, and whispered, u Good-bye." 
And I'll do it, God helping me; your smiles I let pass, 

For I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 

Ah! I reeled home last night— it was not very late. 

For I spent my last six-pence, and landlords won't wait 

On a fellow, who's left every cent in their till, 

And has pawned his last bed their coffers to fill. 

Oh, the tortures I felt, and the pangs I endured! 

And I begged for one glass— just one would have cured,— 

But they kicked me out doors, I let that too, pass, 

For I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 



WARP AND WOOF. 127 

At home, my pet Jessie, with her rich golden hair, 

I saw through the window, just kneeling in prayer; 

From her pale, bony hands, her torn sleeves were strung down, 

While her feet, cold and bare, shrank beneath her scant gown; 

And she prayed— prayed for bread, just a poor crust of bread; 

For one crust, on her knees my pet darling plead, 

And I heard, with no penny to buy one; alas! 

But I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 

For Jessie, my darling, my wee six-year old, 

Though panting with hunger, and shivering with cold, 

There, on the bare floor, asked God to bless me I 

And she said, "Don't cry, mamma! He will; for you see, 

believe what I ask for." Then sobered I crept 
Away from the house; and that night, while I slept, 
Next my heart lay the pledge! You smile, let it pass, 

For I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 

My darling child saved me! Her faith and her love 

Are akin to my dear sainted mother's above! 

I will make my words true, or I'll die in the race, 

And sober I'll go to my last resting place; 

And she shall kneel there, and weeping, thank God, 

No drunkard lies under the daisy strewn sod! 

Not a drop more of poison my lips shall e'er pass, 

For I've drank my last glass, boys, 

I have drank my last glass. 




128 WARP AND WOOF. 

THE WATER PLEA, 



The strength of rum, of gin or wine, 
Is not the strength for me; 

Give me the force not born of sin- 
That strength from passion free. 

The power of thought, that sits enthroned 

In conscience void of stain, 
Gives not the soul by God disowned, 

A life misspent and vain. 

Pure water brewing, crystal bright, 

In alembics of the air; 
Flows from the crested mountain-height, 

Through meads and valleys fair. 

Bestows a pristine strength to age, 
Gives "rouge" to Beauty's cheek; 

Wisdom and truth to wisest sage, 
Blest modesty the meek. 

From forest wild and cascade, flows— 
From crystal, lake and stream; 

The rainbow hues and tints of rose. 
The lightning's bright sunbeam. 

The spangled dew-drop on the leaf, 

Narcissus in the wave; 
The chambered shell of " Ocean Chief," 

And water's metric stave. 

On pulse and water Daniel grew— 

His food and drink, Divine; 
With face and flesh as infants' new, 

Without the Regal wine. 

When Ishmsel and Hagar sank 

Beneath a jealous hate, 
From cool and gushing streams they drank, 

Were blest at Heaven's gate. 



WARP AND WOOF. 129 

Did not Elijah draw from God- 
By water, firey levin, 

Their Baal destroy— truth spread abroad, 
And indicate his Heaven? 

Baptism, with the spirit blends 

To wash our sins away; 
Jehovah thus to Nature lends 

A light:— the " Crown of Day." 

When mounts of opposition come, 

Reared full across my path— 
Away! deceptive wine and rum, 

Give me a Samson's wrath. 

With straining nerves would you assail, 
Your vital force to save, 

Disease disarm— nor yet entail- 
Base crime— a drunkard's grave? 

Drink from the smitten Horeb's Rock- 
By Prophets' wielded stroke- 
No widowed sigh, nor orphan flock, 
No brain nor fortunes broke. 



4 k Sing psalms to him of heavy heart, 

Vine-fruit for those oppressed;" 
But water is the "better part"— 

The spirit's emblem blessed. 

Now, in the light of Nature, rise 

Above the sinning plain; 
Drink purest Nectar— from the skies, 

Nor yield to Rum and Pain. 

Dr. S. F. LANDRY. 
Galveston, Cass Co., Ind. 



130 WARP AND WOOF. 

THE BLOODY BALLOT 



BY REV. CHARLES WHEELER DENISON. 
T. 

"Father in heaven! Thy Kingdom Come!" 
This is the prayer we Christians pray. 

And yet we vote the demon Rum 
Over thy Kingdom sovereign sway. 

II. 

"No drunkard ever enters here!" 

Sounds forth from heaven its fearful knell; 
And yet we vote, from year to year, 

To plunge the drunkard down to hell. 

III. 
By votes we run the Devil's Still! 

By votes we kill God's living grain! 
By votes the Drunkard's cup we till, 

And doom him to eternal pain! 

IV. 

Who Casts Those Votes? Thou, voter! thou! 

Thy ballot damns these drunken souls! 
Thy brother's blood is on it, now, 
Dropped, red and reeking at the polls ! 



WARP AND WOOF. 131 

WHEN I AM DEAD. 



BY EDWIN MORRIS. 



When I am dead and turned to dust, 
Let men say what they will, I care not aught; 

Let them say I was careless indolent, 
Wasted the precious hours in dreaming thought, 

Did not the good I might have done but spent 
My soul upon myself— sometimes let rise 
Thick mists of earth betwixt me and the skies; 

What must be, must. 

But not that I betrayed a trust; 
Broke some girl's heart and left her to her shame; 

Sneered young souls out of faith— rose by deceit 
Lifted by credulous mobs to wealth and fame; 

Waxed fat, while good men waned, by lie and cheat; 
Cringed to the strong; oppressed the poor and weak 
When men say this^ may some find voice to speak 

Though I am dust. 



BORN 



"The Hatter," 



82 Main Street, Lafayette, Ind. 

Respectfully Solicits 

YOUR PATRONAGE. 



Constantly Receiving Something New. 



Curtis E. Wells, 

IMPORTER AND JOBBER OF 

China, Queensware, 

GLASSWARE, 

SilTrer-IPlSLted. T77"a,re r 

AND 

AKRON STONEWARE. 



Chandeliers, Chimneys, 

Lamps, Lanterns, Spoons, 

Bird Cages, Flower Pots, 

Fruit Jars, Table Cutlery, &c. 



42 Main, and No. 1 Third Street. 

LAFAYETTE, IND. 




B. F. BIGGS 



Corner Brown and Thirteenth 
Sts-, near Wabash Depot. 

LaFayette, Ind. 



Manufacturer 
of the Celebrated 

IMPROVED 

LaFayette Pump 



tn k w 




"t 



Manufacturer and Dealer in 



BOOTS, SHOES I RUBBERS 

49 Columbia St., LaFayette, Ind. 



Goods for Fall and Winter now ready. 



X 2^j&-2£X3 .A. SPECI^-LTT OF 

P ALLEY & HOES' cXuIpYoofs a shoes 

These goods are much improved, and are made so that they 
CANNOT RIP OR GIVE ANYWHERE. The best qualities 
are made Standard Screw Bottoms and Rivet Side Seams. 



EOT HOME-MADE ME--EMT FAIR WARRANTED 



RPhAfRARfP! No House Can, No House Shall, give 
ni-lfBE.lfIDE.ri I you a Better Article for the Money. 



Brandon Lewis, 

49 COLUMBIA ST. 

The Boston Boot and Shoe House 




THERE ARE OVER 2,000 ORGANS IN USE, SOLD BY E, W. STEWAET. 

R. W. Stewart's Temple of Music. 

POST OFFICE BLOCK, LAFAYETTE, IND. 

150 ORGANS IN STOCK, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL, 

100 STOOLS AND 300 ORGAN AND PIANO METHODS IN STOCK. 

LARGE STOCK OF SMALL GOODS, SHEET MUSIC, fcc. 

High Grade of Wilcox & White, and Taylor & Farley Organs. 

O-OOX) AGENTS WANTED. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

021 048 -024 J 



: ' ^ff^- 



